Covid Lockdown ( Day 5: Franks Banana Smoothie )
I walk from the bedroom to the bathroom in my underwear. When I get there, the door is locked. I bang on it shouting for Frank to hurry up. The door swings open to reveal Franks date with a towel wrapped around her head.
“Sorry I thought it was Frank”, I say a little embarrassed.
She walks off in a huff. Probably thinking I was trying to sneak a peek. I take a shower and walk back to the room. On the way I spot Franks and his lady friend sharing a banana smoothie from his bowel. It must be love, I think to myself. He doesn’t make banana smoothies for just anyone. I head back to the room to find my wife lying under the bed. Maybe she's playing hide and go seek. I don’t know who with as there is nobody else in the house. I decide it best not to say anything in case I give her hiding place away.
I hear the door slam. Franks lady friend must have left. I head into the kitchen to find him sitting on a chair drinking a cup of coffee. He’s probably in a good mood after last night so I decide now is a good time to bring up the rent.
“Hey Frank, I was thinking since things are going well for you that maybe you could start paying a little rent. Maybe chip in for some of the food bill. That milk and kitty chow is fairly expensive you know.”
Frank stares intensely at his cup. He watches as the steam rises. Breathing in the coffee's sumptuous odor. He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. He opens them and turns to me. Without warning, he picks up the scalding hot cup of coffee and throws it at me as hard as he can.
“It burns, Jesus Christ Frank, it burns.”
I flail around on the floor like a newly born giraffe. Frank gets off his stool and walks slowly over to me. He watches me for a moment as I writhe in agony before cocking his leg up and taking a piss in my hair. I hear the door open and slam. When I open my eyes, he’s gone. I guess he doesn’t want to pay rent.
I run my face under the tap to ease the pain of the burn and also to wash the cat piss from my hair. My top is also soaked. Now I’m going to have to do a wash. I go back to the bedroom to ask my wife to wash it, but she is still under the bed and is now singing Humpty Dumpty over and over. She’s not taking the lockdown as well as Frank and I.
The issue now is my complete inability to work the washing machine. I have a mental bock when it comes to its operation. Men and technology generally go together pretty well. I can program a computer. I can set up a tv box. But I have a mental breakdown when it comes to the washing machine, or washing myself.
It should have two buttons. Wash and Dry. That’s it. Do you hear me Mister Dyson? Your time has come to make the man proof washing machine. No more should men be bamboozled by spin cycles and temperature control. One button that says 'Wash' and one button that says 'Dry'. No more.
I open up the washing machine door and put my top in. That bit I can do. I randomly turn the first knob and let it land "Wheel Of Fortune" style on a random number. I then press a sequence of completely random buttons and walk away. It will either wash my top or form a tiny black hole inside my kitchen. Either way the result will be interesting.
I grab a bag of potato's and begin peeling one after another, just for something to do. I won't eat them. I don’t even really like potatoes. Maybe I’ll throw them from the balcony at school children breaking the curfew.
The door opens and I hear some light steps. A roll of fifty-euro notes lands on the counter beside me.
“Thanks Frank”, I say with gratitude.
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