An Illuminating Experience

I don’t know if it was Accountant’s lack of ‘wife handling skills’ or just complete stupidity or the most likely combination of both, that possessed him to say, “that’s not my job” but if there were ever four little words designed to make my head rotate a full 360°, they were the ones.

I had asked him to help me with some household chores but he apparently felt this no longer fell within his remit. He Tarzan, me Jane and Jane should have done it in the week so as to protect her man from the degradation of dabbling in unskilled female toil come the weekend. I shrieked that I’d done it in the week already and was doing it for a second time because he and Chickie had undone all my hard work in two brief, unchaperoned hours.

It seemed Accountant thought little of my outrage as he continued on his path of self destruction and reeled off activities I did in the week (with Chickie) that could have been better utilised by doing housewifey things instead.

As the ignorance of my tormentor became embarrassing, I felt my right eyelid start twitching and am sure I felt something go ‘ping’ in my head. My exasperation levels were at Amber and fast approaching Code Red. A wise husband would have spotted the warning signs and run for cover.

Being a naturally curious man, he stuck around to watch the fireworks. A magnificent display of combustion featuring very loud bangs and explosive flashes.