Arguing too often
Well, what do you want to do ? She only sprayed such an angry retort when she was totally exhausted with my overwhelming ways. She didn’t even want to know the answer, it was only meant to kickstart the argument into the next level. We were arguing too often. The next level for me was a period of blissful silence, but for her it was an expression of the messy disordered style of living we’d become.
Our life was pretty good before. Before the news came to our door like a bolt of burning doggy doo left by a young prankster. I used to do that the doggy doo trick, but once it got out of hand, there was no-one home and I burnt a fucking house down, the fireman got shit on his shoes, but it was hardly noticed as the flames raised the property.
The news wasn’t alight, but it was rather shocking and not in a good way. The local government had decided it was going to resume our house, thus allowing it to build a car park. A beautifully designed bitumen spread of car parking bliss for sure, but it was just a car park. The reason for our house and the eight surrounding homes to be targeted, was that we had been lucky enough to have been sold a lemon.
The scum bag developer had remodelled some waste ground, an ex service station which was secretly tucked away on the contaminated land register and he had avoided any building code demands while pocketing our hard earned lifesavings. This lying scum bag had skills. He managed to con about fourteen people into buying varied sized lots and building their homes before he was caught. We were sucker number two. The ramifications were a tremendous source of arguments in our home, as I was the one who convinced Tammy we should build there. The best argument contained within our 20 year marriage was when this news arrived at the door.
The scum bag was aptly named Arthur Rummage, and he was arrested. He ended up dying in jail from a mysterious glandular disease, apparently contracted by a nasty case of man love, without protection. It wasn’t the lack of a condom, it was that the recipient of his amorous and violent advances had serious connections and protection, while Arthur had none. He was smashed into the smallest representation of a human the morgue had ever seen. The cause of death was put down to glandular disease, all his glands, organs, limbs, bones and bits were compacted that much it caused disease. Arthur was trolly’d to the morgue like one of those compressed cars you see on tv, the ones that become installation art pieces.
Arthur became the weirdest burial seen in Montville. The funeral home only had one option and that was to dig a square hole, about 2 meters square and pop him in like a child’s toy. The toy boy he’d violated eventually recovered and bestowed his man love treats to his beefy protectors, for at least another four years, before he too was pulverised into a small car design.
“So what the fuck do you want to do? … came the screech again.”
“I don’t know what can we do, we have no choice“ … was my only and best response, just before ducking from the flying vase that came my way. Tammy had a good strong right arm, a colourful temper and handy collection of missiles to match.
“Maybe we can take legal action“ … I managed to get out as the plate hit my temple and not the flat side either. I was fucked.
The hospital staff were very good and they offered the appropriate caring, interested medical attention which was gratefully received. The broken section of plate was skilfully removed from my head and the scans had revealed little brain damage. In fact that slight that they couldn’t even tell where it had sunk in to my cranium. Although my hairdresser would talk of it for years.
The first day out of hospital was rather dreadful. The screaming started the minute I got out of the taxi, the driver claimed that I pooped in his cab, well it wasn’t me. It might have been the rat like chihuahua and/or the belligerent pensioner he had in the blooming taxi before I got in.
Tammy’s reception wasn’t that much better. The shit all over my trousers had smeared itself onto our recently purchased antique lounge. The mess was amazingly large for such a small old lady or her angry dog. So what’s new – I’m in the shit again.