Covid Lockdown ( Day 4: The Broken Coffee Grinder )
I awoke to my wife punching me in the stomach. “Stop snoring”, she shouted. “I’m awake, stop”, I protest. She hears me but keeps punching anyway. By day 4 this has become a regular occurrence. Sometimes I might simply be standing in the kitchen talking to her when she just starts wailing on me. “Stop snoring” she screams as he launches a left hook into my belly button area. It may be the lockdown paranoia kicking in, but I’m starting to think this isn’t about the snoring.
Frank the cat has gone missing. Due the shame of being caught drinking Scotch instead of Irish whiskey I reckon. The fact that I plastered the video all over the internet might have something to do with it. He’s run away before. I’m not worried as he always come back when he gets hungry, or needs to charge his phone.
I decide to make coffee to perk myself up for the day ahead. The coffee blender is broken so I crush the beans by hand. Just for something to do. My wife catches me mid bean squeeze. She asks me what the hell I’m doing and why her coffee is taking so long. I explain about the broken blender. She walks off muttering something about being married to a moron.
Six hours later I make some coffee. It doesn’t taste great so I throw it out. I take a look in the fridge to see if we need to buy something. Any excuse to get out and go to the shops.
“We’re out of cucumber”, I shout to my wife.
“You hate cucumber”, she replies.
“Yeah I know. But we're out of them”.
There’s no reply. Just some mumbling in a foreign language that sounds vaguely offensive. I find this odd as she only speaks English. I think she’s going to crack before I will. If my insanity is going, yours is coming with me I think to myself. I have a little chuckle at my clever thought.
“What the hell are you laughing about?” she shouts from the other room.
I don’t reply in the hope she forgets I’m here. I hear rummaging as she gets off the couch. Shit, I’ve been rumbled. I grab the first thing I can from the fridge to make it seem like I’m not up to anything. Wait a second, I’m not up to anything. She comes into the room to see me clenching a head of lettuce.
“What are you doing with that?” she says.
I can’t think of anything to say. God knows I’m not going to eat it so I throw the ball back into her court.
“What do you think I’m doing with it?” I say slowly with a raised eyebrow.
Just then the door swings open. It's Frank the cat and he’s brought a feline friend. The sly little guy. I’ve been here crushing coffee with my bare hands and he’s been out all day searching for tail. My wife asks him to introduce us, but the two of them just head into his room without so much a meow.
“Good man Frank”, I shout.
“Don’t encourage him”, says my wife.
“You need to have a word with him about paying rent. Either he starts paying rent or he moves out."
“Okay, okay, I’ll talk to him tomorrow”.
“You better or you’ll be out the door behind him”.
She walks over and gives my testicles the mildest of flicks with the back of her hand. This, she knows is enough to have me crouching in pain. She lets out a deeply guttural laugh before walking back to watch Wendy Williams.
I lay on the kitchen floor grasping my balls in one coffee ground covered hand and a large head of lettuce in the other. The top of my butt cheeks a little cold as the fridge door was still open. And I think to myself “I’m happy Franks back, and he’s found someone.”
Alcohol supplies: Half bottle of Scotch, half bottle of wine remain.
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