We did not quarrel. Not at all. if we did, this would probably have been better. I would know that I deserved what I got.
But, we were on good terms. In fact, anybody that saw us that night would have assumed us best of friends.
Why did I get the silent treatment?
I was awake, typing some work and also chatting with fellow nocturnal beings like me when the first landed. It was sudden the way that initial smell hit my nose and almost threw me into instant whole body system shut down.
Quick, I held my breath, counting one; okan, two; eeji… to pass the time. When I thought it safe again, I resumed work.
Then sister Becq readjusted on the bed and…
Let’s just say this silent orchestra continued unabated for more than thirty minutes with just enough intervals for man to survive.
When I had had enough, I figured, if I am asleep, maybe I won’t be so affected. I decided to leave it to God to protect me while I slept.
I was meant to use the toilet just before going to sleep but while I was trying to arrange the bed, my lady woke up and without so much as a glance at me, entered the bathroom/toilet and before I could say Jack and Rose of Titanic, she had shot up violent farts into the toilet, accompanied by whatever your imaginations tell you.
Worthy of note, the only thing separating the toilet from the room is one pink layer of curtain which on other ‘safe’ days is enough.
But, not that night. The gases emanating from that other side of the curtain divide were out of this world.
And when she was done, she flushed, staggered back to the room and went a-snoring the instant she hit the bed.
Was I to still enter that place? I contemplated this for a long time.
Indeed, fear had descended upon me for I wondered if my spirit, soul and body could bear it. But, I needed to pee.
So, kitted up, wrapping my wrapper around my head to cover my nose and mouth, ready to dash in and dash out, I stepped beyond the pink curtain and…
Que sera, sera, I could as well have just gone in without the boko haram-ish turban.
*** In Our Family ***
Patricia is a hen in our house. Suleimon is a cockerel. Then there are two unnamed others, hen and cockerel. These four, I refer to as, “Patricia and the Three Idiots”.
Their story is longer than I can put here and maybe someday, I will.
But for now, suffice to say, if they survive this Christmas, they should count themselves lucky.
Patricia can live though. That one still has some ounce of smart in it. I think.