Domestic (mis)adventures

Skidding, she sprang at his feet, smashing his right foot hard with the sturdy pestle.

“The menacing machine gun in the hands of a miscreant is less dangerous than the mosquito swatter in the hands of a mad person!” This triggered memories of a terribly klutzy friend, who had the terrific talent of thwacking her spouse (accidentally, of course) in inappropriate places, at the most inopportune moments.

Once, on a supposedly drab noon, he was trying to drive a nail into the dining-room wall to deck it with a dazzling tapestry. Pitching himself on the home-ladder, he placed the nail in position and yelled at my friend to get him the pestle. At that moment, she, with her natural flair to create home mishaps, was moseying around the kitchen, scouring for some misplaced masala. Hearing the yell, she came sprinting with the steel pestle, without noticing some gooey stuff that has spilled on the marbled floor.

Lo! Skidding over it, she sprang at his feet, smashing his right foot hard with the sturdy pestle. Perhaps, she hadn’t perceived the magnitude of her own potent power till she heard his ear-piercing shriek, which, terrified not just her, but even their peacefully napping Pomeranian pup, which started whining in plaintive tones, turning inconsolable the entire night.

Another time, she was swanning around her spacious living room with a fly-swatter. On catching the housefly on the showcase shelf, she tried to swing her fly-swatter at it, without seeing her spouse stepping out of his study. Indeed, she was successful in striking. No! Not the swooshing fly but her spouse, who, in a state of utter shock let out an earth-shattering screech.

Upon hearing this, the servant, who was sleeping in her room, got up and started screaming ‘chor chor’ and wildly flailing her hands. In the process, she knocked down a container filled with wheat flour on her unsuspecting husband dozing beside. While that fellow, with his flour-slathered, apparition-like body, scared the wits out of his wife, here my friend’s husband, spewing mumbo-jumbos in his semi-conscious state scared the living daylights off my friend. That day, she swore not to use the fly-swatter again.

Yet another time, she was in deep slumber when she heard the alarm buzz. In the habit of switching it off with a blunt-edged staff placed under her cot,  that day, too, she groped for it in her groggy state and tried pushing at the switch, only to hear the most familiar ear-splitting yell. For, precisely at that moment, her spouse had been busy with something, his back hunched near the cot. And, it was not the switch, but her husband’s posterior that she had poked! 

That day, with eyes brimming with tears, she broke down blaming herself for being a bad wife. Her kindhearted husband consoled her saying, “It is alright as far as one is mentally perfect. Just imagine, having this rare ‘striking’ talent, plus a wonky mind, too, to boot!”

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