HAPPY WITH GRUMPY
MONTHLY COLUMN BY HILARY DECENTh

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Box of Tricks We were looking for a whip in Lover's Lane, W. Ogden. Before you jump to any conclusions, let me explain. We needed one as a prop for a show I was directing and since Halloween had long gone, it was the only place I could think of that would have one.
I'm not sure the assistant believed me, because she said: "Why don't you also take at look at these kits we have? They're our most popular line."
"Oh no," I said hastily. "I really am only buying this as a prop, we don't want anything else."
"We could take a look," said Grumpy. He was unusually accommodating, but this could have been because the assistant was a 20-year-old beauty with long blond hair.
Mary started explaining the contents of the kit as if she were selling cosmetics in Macy's. There was massage oil, some powder and creams. I listened politely, but knew the cost would probably be prohibitive, especially as far as Grumpy was concerned.
"This kit would be $59.95," she chirruped.
"For a few creams and a bit of powder? That's a bit steep," I said, making for the door.
"But we have a sale on at the moment, so it will only be $51.56."
"Ok, we'll take one," said Grumpy, reaching for his wallet.
"What??"
The man who saves money buying used postage stamps on eBay was happy to spend over $50 on a box of lotions and potions. I couldn't believe it.
"Ok," I said to Grumpy, later that night. "We could start with the massage oil. It says for a hot oil deep tissue massage, all you have to do is remove the cap and put it in the microwave for 20 seconds."
The thought of having to get out of bed, go downstairs to the microwave then climb back upstairs with a bottle of hot oil in my hands frankly seemed too much bother, so we left that one.
"What's this for?" said Grumpy, plunging his hand into the box. He pulled out a small bunch of brown feathers, which looked like a cross between a shuttlecock and something a cat had just killed.
"Dunno." I said. "But look at those cobwebs on the ceiling. If the handle was longer it would make a great feather duster."
Bored, Grumpy switched on the TV.
"How about this one then," I said. "It's called Oil of Love. It says here it's a yummy warming oil that has an original taste of sugar cookies."
"Well, I suppose you could give that one a try then," said Grumpy, selflessly turning off the TV and the light so I could begin.
I rubbed a little into his shoulder.
"This isn't doing much for me," he said.
"Me neither," I agreed. "But I do have a craving for a slice of cake."
"Let's try just one more," I continued, reaching out in the dark for a bottle. I picked it up and sprayed it onto Grumpy's face.
"Ow," he yelled. "What on earth's that?"
I switched the light on to see I had inadvertently picked up a bottle of throat spray that had been sitting there since I had had a cold the week before.
Grumpy rolled over in a huff and that was the end of that.
Still, the box wasn't entirely wasted. I now keep most of the ingredients in the kitchen, and my sugar cookies are the talk of the town.