"What are you doing?" I ask Birte. For half an hour she has been walking around her boat, concentrating and taking photos, then she writes something in a notebook, sighing as she does so. Birte looks across the jetty at me. "Well, I'm documenting," she says, as if that explains everything. I stand up. "What is it?" "You know Hanno, don't you?" What kind of question is that? "Yes, he's your husband." "See, there's your answer," she says with satisfaction. I don't understand a thing.
"Your husband is the same," she hisses venomously. "They could be one and the same person in terms of their dispositions." I see. "Why?" "Because they think they could mock us." She nods affirmatively. "And they think we don't notice. Don't you realise? Tell me, don't you realise?" "I don't know what you mean." Birte looks around again, but my husband is at the DIY store with Hanno, so it's possible that they won't be back until the evening. Maybe they'll spend the night in the shipping department. "These two aren't normal. Did you hear about the claw grippers?" I shake my head. "You see. They each bought ten, and do you know why?" I shake my head again.
"Because they're illuminated." "Oh. He didn't even show them to me." "That's the point! They don't show us. They don't show or tell us anything. That's over now. Equal rights for everyone. My mum used to get a fur coat when she bought a new mainsail. Shall I show you my list?" "Sure, come on board! I've got coffee too." "A rum would be more appropriate, after all, I'm on the trail of a scam."
Constant pleasure buying and even more expensive purchases
"Apparently a winch handle is broken," says Birte. "That's a safety issue." "Well, it is ..." "Yes, as far as I'm concerned. That's perhaps the wrong example. But no-one needs a lancing compass these days. And new fender socks all the time, embroidered with the boat's name, of course! And who does that?" "Hanno!" Fortunately, my husband would never do that. "Yes, and your husband! You've ordered embroidered fender socks. For the poor, poor fenders. So they don't freeze, the sweeties. That costs money too. That adds up. And we're never asked if it's okay, we have to put up with everything. We work and toil on these ships too, we carry bottles of wine and bottles of water at the weekends and we break our backs ..."
"So please, you're talking like a rubble woman after the Second World War." "That's how I feel too. They're clever, those two. I've already overheard them. They're whispering to themselves, looking around to see if we're there to hear them." She stands up and clenches her fist. "But not with me! That's over now. And I'm not even getting a new kitchen."
I think for a moment. "Didn't they buy one last year?" "That's right. But the fact is, they want everything, we get nothing. It doesn't work like that. It's no longer like in the 1950s, where the woman is at home and has nothing to do and no rights of her own, no, we work and do our bit, and then something like this."
"And what are you going to do now?" I want to know, and I remember that this is exactly what I had criticised a long time ago, these constant pleasure purchases and even more expensive purchases. Of course I was ignored. It's all for the "old lady". "It's quite simple. I google the prices and for the equivalent value I want something for myself. You should do the same. Nobody needs illuminated claw grippers. Why don't you do the same?"
"You're hiding purchases from me," I now say venomously
After my husband returns in the evening, I inspect the purchases made today. "We told you that we wouldn't be buying so much for the 'old lady'," I dare to say and am met with an angry look. "Not us, you said that. That's something completely different."
That may be, but the fact is that more and more is being bought for the boat all the time. And when I want to buy something, like a new handbag the other day, people say: "You can only use one bag at a time, why do you need so many?" But the "old one" needs it.
I can't help thinking about the earrings. We've been walking past this shop window in Hamburg almost every day for weeks, and every time I stop and say: "Oh, those are beautiful earrings, oh, they're beautiful." They really are, antique with red stones. "They're just earrings," is always the answer.
"You're hiding purchases from me," I say venomously. "Huh?" "The claw grippers, the illuminated ones, why do you need ten of them?" "Firstly, Michi wanted two and apart from that, you may not have heard of sustainability. Besides, claw grippers are a safety feature. I'm running out of pump again."
"So, what's all this?" I point to the shopping. Suddenly I'm stung by the sting of equality. Let's see how to do the maths. I hold up a small item that looks like a torture device for hummingbirds. "What's this?" He sighs. "These are prong eyes." "And they're important, are they?" "You hammer them into tarpaulin fabric." "And you need that?" "Yes, dear, of course you need a tarpaulin."
"But not this one, that's just because you're a shopping addict, right?" I look at him. "It's a lifejacket that's still in its packaging," my husband explains to me. "It's not a safety item, of course. We don't need it, of course. We don't need a rudder blade or lines either, it's all just because I'm a shopaholic."
It's something every woman is happy about
"People are always buying things for the boat and I don't get anything," I say. "It's your boat too." "Nevertheless. You could give me something again and not just your 'old lady' all the time. You know exactly what I've been wanting for a long time."
"Did Birte set you off?" he wants to know. I turn red. "What makes you think that?" "Well, yes. That's impossible. Hanno has already told me that she's recently started to do the maths. She'll probably want a Porsche soon." "Oh, that's how much has come together?"
"Speaking of which, and so that you don't have to worry twice: we need a new gennaker." "Why?" "Because the old one is falling apart, has already been partly patched up and there are better profiles out there." Oh, he thinks he'll get me with that. Oh no. "How much does it cost?" "I have no idea." Of course I don't.
"I never get anything for myself!" He looks at me. "All right then. What would you like, what can I do to make you happy?" That's possible. But it's not that easy for him. "You know exactly what I've wanted for so long." "I don't know. So? Well, tell me." "No, you'll have to figure it out for yourself." "You're really complicated."
He starts leafing through a catalogue, ticking boxes here and there. I google gennaker prices and catch my breath. They cost from 3000 euros. I think I'm on fire. "It's a safety issue," says my husband. "And you can't sail without a sail, that's just the way it is."
"But I'm not getting what I want most." "Because you won't tell me," he gets upset. "Then think about it!" "Why don't you at least give me a hint?" "It's something every woman is happy about," I describe the earrings. "I see." He ponders to himself and reads his emails. Then he looks up and beams at me. "I've got it!"
At last! "I'm really pleased about that." I really am. "Here," he holds out an offer from his favourite sailmaker. "I've found the right gennaker." That can't be true. My husband is delighted. "Great. It fits perfectly." It doesn't suit me at all. "So what do you want so much?" he asks. "If you really love me, you'll think of it yourself." He sighs and orders the gennaker. Snatches of conversation fly over to us from Birte and Hanno's boat. "If you don't tell me, there's nothing I can do," we hear, and my husband looks at me, nodding: "You see."
The next weekend, my husband is in town. He arrives with a huge parcel, which he carries in a harbour trolley. It's wrapped in pink paper. "There," he says, beaming with joy. "Now come here and unpack." I walk across the bathing platform onto the jetty. "What all women want," he cheers. I tear off the paper. Please, no, don't let it be what I think it is. Don't let it be what I don't want under any circumstances, under any circumstances, ever. Don't let it be ...
"A Thermomix!" My husband's voice cracks. "The latest model." Oh no. No.
"Ahem," I say. "Are you happy?" He's so happy. "I sure am." I look at the monster. It's a nightmare. "That's great," he says. "Then I've done everything right. First I wanted to buy you these antique earrings." Own goal, I'd say.
