Keith is lying on the lounge with Ivy, telling her chapter 15 of his on-going story about Tortellini, the fairy that rides about on Ted's shoulder and sleeps in Ivy's shoe. She makes their tricycles fly, and they usually need to fly at some point in their adventures. Tonight Tortellini's friends Spaghetti, Fettucine and Ravioli (the chubby one) are over to ride grasshoppers around the garden.
It's a sweet sight, this little ritual.
It makes up a little for an hour ago, when Teddy, all post-bath and coconut-massage, clean jarmied and fresh-nappied, poured his milk on the floor and started frantically stomping it everywhere. I called out to Keith to stop the madness.
Did Keith help?
No, he didn't.
He continued to dance a one-legged cha-cha on the rug, waving his crutches and singing along to 'Lean On Me' on the radio.
He feels emasculated, he jokes, because he can't walk and I am doing his Man Jobs, like hauling the bins half a kilometre up the dirt track to the main road. But I think only a true man can really inhabit the emotional landscape of an overweight fairy, and interpret 80's calypso pop through dance , even when he must crawl to the toilet.