She strolled past me at first, spraying a very seductive smile. I was irritated; she just obstructed my view of an important pass from the captain of my team. She went into the kitchen, my wife, and served a very appealing meal. If a meal could be seductive, this was one in hot pants and red bikini. But it was a distraction. The type of distraction that was below the belt because I loved food, yet, I allowed my peripheral vision to take a slight glimpse as my central vision took a hold of my concentration once more.
I didn’t notice her finish eating. She asked me something but my team just missed an important goal that made me cringed. Bile was rising into my stomach; we were on the losing end. My wife rarely gets angry and I usually get what I wanted. The next time she walked by, she was stack naked. Now, that was the cheapest most effective distraction that she could pull on me. I gulped in my urge, effectively dividing my gaze. She danced almost motionlessly in a way that accentuated all her commodities. I was being charmed. The only mistake was she wasn’t distracting the team my team was playing against. The moment I chose to ebb towards her, my team was pummeled with two goals in quick succession. The stupidity of the defenders irked me to such an extent that I was filled with rage.
The outcome of this scenario gave birth to the first hint of anger on my wife’s face. Now she knew I was aware of her and could probably relate everything she has done and said if she confronted me (they don’t call me scofield for nothing),but the problem was I wasn’t paying attention.
‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’, I was learned enough to know the ramifications of this famous quote, but I was too angry to pay attention. I settled back down disinterested in almost everything (my wife included). I was sweating despite the AC. My wife’s face was already red. She hated football and in fact it now occurred to me how strange it was that she allowed me to watch the match at home in the first place. Something was off but it was too late for me to trace my steps back.
I have been bubbling all over the chair for some time now, holding back the pressure of my excited bladder. I made a quick dash to the toilet; it was half time. The urine was flowing steadily, hot, and I was greatly enjoying the relief. There was a loud bang suddenly, then a crash. I was so startled that urine had rained all over my pants. I jumped out without completing that business and I saw the living room in smoke. My plasma TV was gaping with different wounds all over its surface and in my wife’s hand was the pounded yam’s mortar. I froze and tried to utter a word, but I was paying too much attention to muster anything talk less of getting angry.
My wife was calm. She gazed at me coolly. ‘I am pregnant,’ she smiled; encouraged by the super attention I was giving her. I was about to react when I heard shouts from the neighboring house, ‘Goaaaaaaal!!!.’ Now, please pay attention if you haven’t been paying close one earlier, because what was about to happen next is best explained in slow motion. I heard ‘Gooooooooal’ right, my neighbors were Manchester united fans so I knew my team had reduced the deficit. So my ears twitched, relayed the information to my brain, which relayed the message to my eyes. Now my eyes were very intelligent, they knew they must not take their ‘eyes’ off the menacing mortar in my wife’s hand. So the message bypassed them and travelled to my neck. They shifted slightly but my intelligent eyes noticed my wife shifted slightly as well.
Now the bang has attracted some neighbors and my wife was still stark naked, transformed with perspiration and rage into a terrorist that I never envisaged. Now I’m not supposed to be in a dilemma right! But my team scored another goal within this minute and unknown to my wife I had bet a huge amount of money, in fact, it was the house rent money. So my reaction was much more spontaneous than I could intelligently control. I erupted with joy taking note that I have the right to be angry over the actions of my wife later.
It was too late before I caught attention of what was flying towards me. It was not the mortar obviously. The remote control caught me squarely on my mouth with such ferocity that baseball players will be proud off. It knocked off my front tooth, which I swallowed in the process. As if that wasn’t enough, as I recoiled in pain, my sweet intelligent eyes noticed the mortar had risen from the ground to a dangerous angle. ‘You bastard! I’m not supposed to be pregnant. You were supposed to have done a vasectomy.’ My wife screamed from the top of her voice exploding into a rage that propelled her towards me dangerously. The only thing I could utter, in my terrified defensive position was probably what saved my life. ‘wetin now? You wan kill me, wetin…’
I lumbered off by defensive position, my wife became sorry but she was too enraged to apologize. ‘No self respecting African man should be castrated’, i recalled the admonition my friend had given me, he was a doctor and had faked the report. Before you feel sorry for me, you see, my wife had just one more chance to fight in the bout for the boxing heavyweight championship and I just ruined her dreams.