1834. Kitchen spat

“You just have to wonder sometimes where the time goes,” said Dolly to husband, Lyndon. “It’s nearly two weeks now since I started to repaint the kitchen cupboards in the evening and I’m not even half way through.”

“There are two reasons for that,” said Lyndon. “Number One, you’re too fussy; and number two, you talk too much.”

Without any forethought, Dolly picked up the can of paint and threw the contents all over her husband. It wasn’t planned. It was spontaneous. Dolly had had enough of his snide remarks. Lyndon was covered in green pain, as was the kitchen floor and oven.

Lyndon was now angry, and perhaps justifiably so. “You know what?” he said. “You know what? I wasn’t going to tell you until after your birthday, but you’ve blown the surprise. I’m off. I’ll take the car. You keep the house. You catch the bus to where ever the hell you want to go. I’ll rent somewhere.”

“Good riddance!” said Dolly, louder than before. “You’ve been a pain in the proverbial for months. Here I am trying to paint the kitchen cupboards to make the house nice, and you just stand around and criticize. Well I’ll be better on my own. You are the most…“

“Just hold it there,” said Lyndon.

“What?”

“The director said not to get too loud on that passage. It’s more threatening to almost whisper the lines.”

“Oh, that’s right,” said Dolly. “Shall we take it from the top?”