For instance, she doesn't think it's good form to leave the leaves on the ground too long because they make the place look untidy and stop the lawn grass getting any sun, even the little bit it usually gets in winter.
Obviously – because I don't want her to pack a shitty and refuse to make me that pizza she promised – I agree completely.
Privately, however, I am not really that bothered if the grass doesn't get any sun. To me it simply means it won't grow as quickly and I won't have to brave the winter chill and go out and mow it.
Anyway.
The decision is made. We need to shift the leaves.
Now ordinarily this would mean raking them up with a leaf rake. That's the wide specialty rake I graduated to many years ago after having done my apprenticeship on your normal garden variety rake.
You know the one I mean? It's the one the bloke stands on and it comes up and hits him on the face. Think Benny Hill chase sketches on telly. Youngies, ask your grandparents.
So, to the leaf rake. It's in my garden shed, over the back somewhere behind all the bits and bobs I throw in there because there's nowhere else to put them. And naturally getting it out is a bit of a mission because its prongs are stuck on something or other.
I'm a bit cold and grumpy so I'm not really in the mood to be patient and carefully move stuff like a game of pick-up sticks. Youngies, ask your grandparents again.
So, I do what most red-blooded Kiwi males do and just grab the handle and pull in the general direction I want it to come.
And it does. In two pieces.
So now I'm standing there with two pieces of unusable leaf rake, one tangled up in some old cargo net thing which looks like it came from the Titanic and that piece of wire every bloke has in his shed "just in case".
It would be fair to say that Mrs P is none too impressed but just before she launches into a lecture and/or withdraws the pizza offering, I defuse the situation.
There is no need to panic, I say, because (drum roll please) I had been intending to buy a leaf blower anyway.
This goes down very well indeed.
My beloved has friends who have them and has seen them in action. By all accounts they are so easy to use her friends have absolved their husbands of any leaf removal duties and do the job themselves.
This is indeed music to the ears of myself, and presumably to the many thousands of blokes around NZ who are not keen on the task.
To the uninitiated, a leaf blower is basically a vacuum cleaner in reverse. Instead of laboriously raking the leaves up into a pile for disposal you simply wander around blowing the leaves off your grass and out down the road.
From there they become somebody else's problem. They then blow them on to the next house and so on. It's a real community effort, everyone gets involved.
The only issue with the whole process befalls the last person in the street who has no neighbour to pass the now massive mountain of leaves on to.
He's the one that normally has a bonfire each year, presumably wondering how he ended up with so many leaves on his lawn when he's only got a few shrubs in pots.
But I digress.
Eventually Mrs P and I make it to town and before you can say "ker-ching", a shrewd salesman has her trying out all sorts of leaf blowers. It was almost like she was buying a pair of shoes.
The first one was a bit too heavy and bulky. The second was a nice weight but she didn't like the look of it.
The third and fourth were very similar but didn't give her "the feel" . . . don't get me started.
Then she found The One.
Stylish and elegant. Powerful yet gentle. It fitted easily and comfortably in one hand.
The salesman was a smoothie. No sooner had she expressed a liking for the leaf blower he produced - ironically the most expensive - an 18-volt battery was found, which simply slid into place with a sexy click.
Don't quote me on this but I think Mrs P went "oooh!!!". She was hooked.
"Give it a try," said the salesman with a smile.
Basically, from there on in I knew it was all about me opening the wallet and forking out the moolah.
And so while Mrs P wondered up and down the aisles flicking her powerful new leaf blower on and off, I went up to the counter and paid.
We didn't hang around long after the purchase was done though. I grabbed Mrs P quickly and hurried her out the door, into the car and away.
As we drove off she asked me why the rush.
I explained she had been so focused on the off/on switch of her new toy she hadn't kept an eye on the direction and she'd blown a huge stack of advertising pamphlets off the rack by the door as she'd gone past and the previously friendly salesman was now anything but and was down on his hands and knees picking them up.
• Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to editor@northernadvocate.co.nz (Kevin Page in subject field).
