Sebastian Maniscalco in Why Would You Do That? appears to be laughing at me too. He declines invitations to stay at friends’ homes whenever he’s travelling. Once, his host handed him a squeegee for the bathroom. What? You want me to squeegee the shower cubicle after I’ve used it? I laughed out loud but then stopped abruptly after my fifth cackle. I was laughing at myself, I mean, who doesn’t stoop low with a squeegee to dry the walls of their bathroom immediately after finishing? Immediately means after drying myself but before drying the walls. Nah, the comedian exaggerates when he says his scrotum might inadvertently scrape the floor if he squats to squeegee the wall tiles. Never mind, it takes me no more than a minute to leave a reasonably dry cubicle after I am done. Let them laugh.
The same with squeezing the last drop of tooth paste from its tube. Before the advent of soft pliable plastic, my toothpaste fights with The Mrs were frequent. Did I say fight? I could never win a fight with her, flight would be a better word. During those days, squeezing toothpaste was an art form, we couldn’t simply squeeze it anyhow we like. Collapsible but not completely, those tubes were made of tin and lead. Aiyaya, you’re too wasteful. Squeeze carefully, meticulously and evenly from the bottom. Make sure it’s totally empty before advancing it up the tube. Waste not a drop. Be sure to screw back the lid tightly, do not let the contents dry up! Even with the plastic tube, we cannot successfully push out all the toothpaste. Aiyaya, do not waste a drop. Scissors please.
I am usually placid and calm. Omitaba. Except when I’m on the road, there I’m a beast. I cannot stand stupid drivers. Green means go! Don’t start and stop! Don’t hesitate, you’re not choosing what clothes to buy. Go! I am on my way to the city, there is a musical in town, and I have been given two free tickets. I know it is going to be great, anything free is a bonus. At the traffic lights, a bloke in front throws out a cigarette butt. Doesn’t he know the butt eventually goes out to the sea? I honk him long and loud. He gives me the middle finger. I honk again. Luckily the traffic light turns green, he doesn’t get to storm out of his car to menace me. Luckily for him, I mean. During the show, they sang a song about what Jesus did when they sentenced him to die. The lyrics pricked at my conscience. Man up. He had to man up.
I’ve gotta stand up
Can’t just clam up
Its time to
Man up!
Alright, alright, let me man up. The bloke who chucked the butt onto the road did get out of his car. He was a huge guy, with mafia looks. He who hesitates at the lights would not hesitate to head butt me had I not changed lane and roared past him when the lights turned green. Luckily for me. The Mrs lectures me. Bla bla bla. You’re a nobody on the road, why do you think you’re a somebody? Who are you to correct others? Bla bla bla. I wish that incident happened after we had attended The Book Of Mormon, I would have given The Mrs the perfect reply which I learned from the musical. In that part of Africa, when something bad happened, they would throw up their hands to the sky and sing.
Hasa Diga Eebowai!
Hasa Diga Eebowai!
Please don’t ask me what that means. Hasa Diga Eebowai!
The Mrs was heavily pregnant with our first son when I released a Silent Bomb in bed, a most pungent evil smelling fart I had ever made, it caused her to convulse and turn pale in the face. I didn’t understand pregnancies can cause convulsions. That’s the problem with flatulence, you never know what you’re going to get. Will it be loud or silent? More importantly will it be harmless and leave without a trace or will it be embarrass me? Since then, I no longer let one off intentionally in bed. Which makes life most cumbersome, I am seen getting in and out of bed to set off the bombs in the bathroom numerous times a night. Adelaide’s home heating system isn’t as efficient as those boiler systems you get elsewhere. In London, I can be in a t-shirt in my son’s home and won’t feel cold. Here at home in Adelaide, even the Londoner complains about the cold inside the house. To have to leave my warm bed in the middle of the night in the middle of winter just to let off some air from my system is a nuisance. But, what choice do I have? Every now and then I can offer the excuse that it was an accident, unintentional, ageing has its benefits. This is one of them. We can say we no longer have total control of our farts. The Mrs can’t understand why hers is sweet-smelling and mine can be so violently obnoxious when our diet is exactly the same. Despite my efforts, sometimes the evil smells follow me back to the bed.
Hasa Diga Eebowai!
Hasa Diga Eebowai!
Urghhlings 