Told Him We're Done If It Happens Again

Lorraine Batts, 61

Married 33 years. Devoted to the couch, a good shiraz and a decent wedge of cheddar.

6 min read

A lounge room at night, a bag of thawed peas and a tea towel on the couch, red wine and a cheese board on the coffee table — The scene of the incident. Note the squish.

The incident

Friday night. The good shiraz. A cheddar I had been saving since the weekend. I kicked off my shoes, arranged myself on the couch, glass in hand, and sat on something cold and yielding that absolutely should not have been there.

A bag of frozen peas. Or rather, formerly frozen peas. They had been applied to my husband's elbow at six o'clock, abandoned on a tea towel at seven, and by nine had achieved the consistency of a waterbed. A rubber band sat nearby, presumably as a gesture toward closure.

I would like to say I was measured. I gathered the bag, the towel and the rubber band into a small exhibit, held them up, and announced the following words, which I have since embroidered on nothing but should: Barry, we are finished if this happens again. I was not finished. The peas were.

A woman holding a dripping tea towel at arm's length with a look of disgust, a glass of red wine in her other hand — Exhibit A, held at arm's length. The shiraz stayed in my other hand.

A short history of his knee arrangements

Barry is 64 and coaches the U16s on Thursdays. He comes home, declares his knee done in, and improvises with whatever the freezer holds. Peas, mostly. Corn on one occasion. On his more organised nights he makes an ice bag, wraps it in a tea towel and fastens the arrangement with the rubber band from the broccoli.

It works, after a fashion, if you never move and no one sits down. Barry moves. The whole apparatus migrates south every twenty minutes, and a small icy pool forms where the cushion used to be.

A bag of peas has a job, and the job is dinner. My side of the couch is not a cold store.

So I said the words, and because I am not a monster, I added the obvious rider: we are finding you something better.

What we found

I asked around like it was a proper investigation. Book club, my sister Val, a woman from my walking group whom I had never properly spoken to. Two people gave the same answer, and one has a husband who golfs. It is called the Cryo Therapy Machine.

A neat little cooler with a pump in the lid. You fill it with water and a couple of frozen silicone trays, clip a hose into a cloth cuff, and the cold water circulates around whatever is strapped in. It does its job from the couch. It does not melt onto the furniture. It does not require my peas, my tea towels or my broccoli rubber bands.

“My only regret was not ordering it earlier”

One customer wrote

Cryo Therapy Machine (with one cuff)

$499.95

The whole kit, cooler, pump, hose and cuff, so the peas can go back to being dinner.

See it at Cryo Remedy

The peace agreement

$499.95, everything in the box, and Barry was instructed in its operation over one Sunday afternoon. He now runs entirely independent icing operations. I have reclaimed the peas, the towels and the couch's structural dignity.

Last Friday he settled in with his cuff and a cold beer. I sat beside him with my cheddar, unmenaced. At one point he looked at me and said, without irony, I should have sorted this ages ago. I chose to let that go, because every marriage has its quiet victories.

A couple laughing together on the couch with glasses of red wine and a cheese board — Friday night, restored. Him, me, the cheddar and not a pea in sight.

The rule stands. The peas are for dinner. Everything else has a proper place now.

Cryo Therapy Machine (with one cuff)$499.95