Tag Archives: argument

1959. A finger in every pie

Wendy and Ronald didn’t eat out that often. Now and again they might go to a fast-food chain and get something. Not to take home, but to simply have there and then on one of the outside, bird-crapped tables. But still, an outing is an outing. It’s a change of scene if not exactly dining at the Ritz.

They normally liked to eat healthy. They were not fuss-pots about food but I suppose they could be called “careful eaters”. Healthy eating meant that going to get an unhealthy meat pie or an unhealthy hamburger and French fries once in a while was an absolute treat!

It was while Ronald was tucking onto his kangaroo and double egg burger that he came across a finger; a human finger. Although he wasn’t sure because he had already bitten into it and therefore pulled the finger out of his mouth, he was ninety percent sure that the finger had been stuck in the kangaroo meat rissole.

“Look what I found in my hamburger!” exclaimed Ronald to Wendy. “Someone’s index finger!”

“It’s not an index finger,” said Wendy. “I think it’s a middle finger.”

“How would you know that?” said Ronald. “They’re both very much the same.”

A wee argument ensued, with both Wendy and Robert sticking to their guns; although Wendy reckoned it was from a right hand and Ronald from a left. In the end they were able to laugh about it.

“It’s an unresolved mystery,” said Ronald as he scrapped his leftover meal with the uneaten finger into the waste bin. “I guess it’s something we will never solve.”

Which just goes to show, if a moral is to be taken from this episode, that wee matrimonial disagreements can sometimes be solved with a little laughter.

1916. Why don’t you suck eggs?

I paid good money to a tree doctor to have the dead tree cut down and taken away that was disfiguring my garden lawn. And what happened? The idiot cut down the wrong tree. He’s not going to get paid.

“You’re not getting paid,” I told him. “You’ve cut down the wrong tree.”

“You’ll pay me or else,” he said. “I cut down the tree you pointed out.”

“You’re not getting paid, and that’s that,” I said.

“Lady, why don’t you suck eggs?”

Well, that settled that. I’m not going to have a bigoted lumberjack cut down my wrong tree and tell me to suck eggs. Who does he think he is? Does he think he’s Lord Muck of Egypt or what? He can put his chainsaw in his pipe and smoke it.

All that was seven years ago. I still can’t mow my lawn. Sometimes I wish I’d never married him.

1915. How to pick up guys

Bridgette was having none of it. This was the third time she had told her new boyfriend that she didn’t take sugar in her coffee and the third time he’d sugared it. Didn’t he listen?

He said it was no big deal. When he moved in he said he wanted to sleep on the side of the bed nearest the door – “Because guys end up going to the bathroom in the night more often” – but did she listen? No. She was in the bed and nearest the door before he could undo his shirt buttons.

Anyway, said Bridgette, it really annoyed her the way he drove the car – and it was her car. He drove along glancing at the rear vision mirror like it was an obsession. Glance glance glance. He said he was looking out for cops. There might be a cop following. So Bridgette asked what have you got to hide from cops? And he said the only thing hidden around here is your brains. He meant it as a joke, but Bridgette flung her sugared coffee (by now it was thankfully cold) all over her new boyfriend and he said things that shall go here unrecorded.

Everything grew into a momentous argument and Bridgette said she would show him around and said “I’ll start by showing you the door”. He told her to jump in the lake, he was going nowhere, but she was welcome to get in her car and go off to where he didn’t care. He repeated that he was going nowhere, and Bridgette said “It’s obvious you’re going nowhere and never will.”

Bridgette said she was sorry, and he said “Try telling that to someone who gives a shit.”

He’s gone now. Thankfully. Bridgette realized she had made a mistake with him initially. It was her fault for inviting him into her life in the first place. One day the right guy will come along. You never know from one minute to the next what exciting person Fate is going to throw in your path. Tonight she’s going down to the pub to see if Mister Right is in fact waiting just around the corner.

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?”

1622. A study in ennui

It certainly produces ennui when stuck inside on a rainy day. In fact, Syd had stayed in bed with the curtains drawn. The only thing that would happen if he got up would be to have breakfast before discovering that there was “nothing to do”. He wasn’t allowed much time on his phone, he wasn’t allowed much time watching videos, he wasn’t allowed much time on his computer, he wasn’t allowed much time doing sweet nothing. And now his parents were telling him to “go look for a summer job during the holiday time.” His parents sucked. The world sucked. It was hosing down outside. He might as well stay in bed. So he did.

When his father came home around one in the afternoon he went into Syd’s room and said “Get out of bed you lazy sod and do something useful.” Syd saw red and leapt out of bed and he and his father had a shouting match. Syd threw on some clothes and stormed out of the house.

What Syd’s father then said to Syd’s mother shouldn’t necessarily appear here unedited. But he swore that their next two sons would have their teenage years circumvented and they’d go from age eleven to twenty-two in one go. It’s a wonder the falling rain outside didn’t steam and hiss and evaporate once it hit the roof of the Maddock household. Syd’s father mowed the lawn in the rain he was so fed up to the back teeth. Then he tidied the garage. Then he fixed the broken cupboard door handle in the kitchen.

When dinner time came Syd came home and everything was normal.

1485. Ned’s old truck

Ned Grinter had an old truck. Some might call the old truck a pick-up and some might call it a ute. It was once white, and a bit battered. It was Ned’s pride and joy, although he didn’t use it much – mainly several times a year to gather firewood for the winter. The rest of the time he used his car. He would polish the truck’s tires, and even polish the black cover that stretched over the back of the truck. Some might call the back of the truck a deck and some might call it a tray.

Ned was out collecting firewood in the forest with his wife, Barbara. He was chucking the firewood haphazardly onto the back of the truck. He was doing mighty fine loading wood when Barbara suggested that if he packed the wood nicely he’d be able to fit more on.

He didn’t have time to pack things nicely. They could come back and get a second load. It was quicker not to be fussy.

Things developed into an argument and then Ned, firewood only half loaded, took off in his truck for back home. And when he got home he stretched the cover over the back of the truck and said, Stuff it; stuff the firewood; his wife could freeze through the winter for all he cared.

So Ned’s old truck stayed unused throughout the cold winter, parked behind the back of the garden shed. Come the end of winter and Ned needed to use his truck to pick up a beer fridge he’d bought online. He unloaded the firewood. But he didn’t have a clue what to do with his wife’s decomposing corpse.

1428. Grumpy Earl

When Earl went out to his shed to get his set of screwdrivers to do a job there was a screwdriver missing. That put him in a grumpy mood.

“Where did you put my screwdriver?” he asked his wife.

“I didn’t touch them,” she said.

That was typical. She always claimed she never touched his stuff and she always had. She never returned things back to their right place.

“I’m off to the pub for a while,” he grumbled.

As he got in his car he sat on the missing screw driver. Then he remembered.

It put him in a worse mood than before.

1422. Quite frankly, I’m sick of it

Quite frankly, I’m sick of it, Heidi. I come home from work and the place is a mess. The kids’ rooms are a mess. The kids haven’t even done their homework. The only food to look forward to is precooked stuff out of a package. You just heat it up in the microwave like you don’t care. The dishes don’t get done. The kids eat too much junk.

Then all you do is complain about every little thing. You want a better car. The lawn needs mowing – well, mow it yourself if that’s what you want. You haven’t taken the trash out. You’re not separating trash into recyclables. You don’t take any pride in your appearance any more. You look like an old cow.

Oh yes, Heidi, you have a cold. When don’t you have a cold? Moan moan moan. I cut down your work hours at the factory to only 30 hours a week so you could do some home-making stuff you so desperately wanted and all you do is moan moan moan. Quite frankly, I’m sick of it.

Heidi pulled out a gun and shot him dead. It was premeditated.

1054. I can’t begin to tell you

I can’t begin to tell you how pathetic you…
So why have you begun?
…how pathetic you are.
I’m not listening.
You never listen. That’s why you’re pathetic.
Da da da. I’m not listening.
You haven’t listened for years.
You’re pathetic.
Is that all you can say? Pathetic. Pathetic. How pathetic is that?
I’ll give you something you can listen to.
Oh yeah. What’s that?
BANG!