I have a calling, I just don’t know wtf it is.

“I Think We Need Another Man in The House”

Said my wife

I was stunned. Shocked in fact. My wife walked into my safe place, and announced casually, while I was settling down to watch the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix,

“We need another man in the house.”

Usually, people do not bother me when I enter my sanctuary. Think of it as a lair. Gnawed chicken bones lying around, pizza boxes, and empty liquid receptacles. That sort of thing.

It is not untidy because I am vertically challenged. It is a disguise. A ruse. At a moment’s notice, I could spring up and into action. I haven’t sprung yet, but I could.

People would be shocked

“Is it because I did not want to come to bed the night of the Las Vegas Formula 1 Grand Prix, and now you are booting me out of the bed chamber,” I asked sullenly.

“No. NO,” she replied. “You are still my food guy and my bed guy.”

I was confused. She could see that. 30 years of marriage and the telltale signs of confusion are as clear as reading an ancient manuscript from the Ming Dynasty, in third person colloquial Mandarin, by a non-Mandarin reading Westerner, … on “Why becoming a Vegan always changes your name to Karen.”

Some would call it clear as mud. But I am a writer, so have to find more words. Verbosity RULES!!

“Come with me,” she said.

I did not want to go, the Abu Dhabi GP was starting in half an hour, and now that menopause is kicking in, she takes a good 30 minutes just to warm up. I could miss the formation lap here.

But the threat of another man galvanised me into action. I put down my popcorn, and my beer, and followed her down the passage. We went right past the bedroom door.

Phew! I thought

But then my anxiety turned to fear. If it wasn’t that, then what was it? She headed into our bathroom.

Ooh kinky, I thought. Maybe I could watch the formation lap on catch-up TV later.

She bent over.

Go on

Put her hands on either side of the closed toilet, grasping the seat firmly.

Yes, yes

She turned towards me and stared deep into my eyes.

Is that Barry White I hear?

And began to rock it from left to right. The caulk was coming off at the joint between the floor and toilet pan.

“You see that,” she said as she turned to me, “That is why we need another man in the house. I asked you to fix it, and it rocks even more now.”

I had an answer immediately

“Yes, but what did you tell me to do,” I asked.

In my head, the Judge was looking on and the jury was in the palm of my hand. The Courtroom was as silent as a tank of dead fish.

I’ve heard this sound … and can confirm, you can’t hear ANYTHING. Mainly because I forgot to switch the motor back on after cleaning the tank. I know what you are thinking … and I agree.

Cleaning the tank was a waste of time considering the outcome.

“I asked you to fix it,” she replied.

Gotcha! I blurted.

“Exxxx — actly,” I responded dramatically, “Fix it,” I looked directly at the court camera, “You (pointing at her deliberately, which normally I was not allowed to do, but this was a courtroom), did not ask me to REPAIR it,” I replied. “Had you asked me to repair it, I would have done a repair job. This is a fix-it job. Something … but not enough to call it repaired,” I exclaimed.

“Fuck right off,” she shouted, smiling.

That smile was a tell. I play cards. I know these things. I was winning the court case and she knew it.

“Okay,” she responded, flowing straight past me standing in the bathroom doorway, and flounced down the passage to the study, whereupon she pointed at the wall-mounted bookcase I had installed two days previously.

Even to my surprise, it was still holding on by its nail ends, delicately, to the wall. It had not fallen. So how could she possibly use this DIY masterpiece against me?

“Put a book on it,” she ordered.

“No,” I replied.

“I dare you to put a book on it,” she said.

“I do not feel like it,” I replied as if I had a lot to do. Which in fact, I did. My popcorn needed a little bit more salt, I thought, I’ll go do that important task this minute.

“Okay, then I will,” and she grabbed a book.

Now I have to stop here because the book was central to our argument, it turned out, several hours later. And will determine for you, the avid reader, who was right and who was wrong.

I said, it was a book the size of a large hardcover copy of WAR & PEACE, and she said, it was a thin paperback novel.

One of us was wrong.

She tried to put the book on the bookcase and it did two things simultaneously, it both slid off … and did not fit the width of the shelf.

“This shelf,” she exclaimed, “Could not hold one of your sperm cells,” she exclaimed.

“It absolutely could,” I retorted vehemently. Safe in the knowledge that she would not make me prove it. As that would be positively disgusting, and the children were about.

But I was not finished there. I went on to cement my case, as we say in “marriage courtroom lingo” of 30-plus years in the “marriage club”.

And yes it is a club. Here’s why:

You are dying to join, get permission, pay the fees, gain membership … remain ecstatic for the first week, and then meet the club rules committee (of one) “in caucus” because you have broken a few measly rules. It is all downhill from there.

My first broken rule was the dirty laundry bin. Apparently, it is not a basketball hoop. And there are no ball boys to scoop up your misses. How crazy is that?

It’s a shit league, is what I say. Since when did they stop providing ball boys?

I continued to make my incredibly complex point:-

“If you wanted to actually put books on the wall-hung bookcase, that should have been part of the instructions,” I pointed out.

I then went on to mansplain, that the word bookcase, or wall-mounted bookcase, referred to the generic term for any shelf on any wall that COULD hold books, in days gone by, but was not exclusively for books. Books are far less “a part of modern daily life” as we have the internet now, I continued to mansplain.

After a bit more … “Mainsplain, mansplain, mansplain,” I could see her eyes were glazing over, so I began with closing arguments.

“Had you wanted to put books on the wall-mounted bookcase, you should have included the words, “Like a Billy”, and it would have been crystal clear. I would have built it accordingly. You did not, so there were no PARAMETERS,” and with that, I closed my case.

I was going to continue with an explanation of the importance of parameters/boundaries, with children and in relationships, but her knuckles were going an unusual colour of white wrapped around the fireplace poker.

She looked at me for a full threeseconds and then uttered those immortal words,

“We are getting a new man, I spoke to the handyman Roberto, and he is taking your place. Your DIY skills are as pathetic as your denials and excuses. So deal with it.”

So I did. I stormed to the kitchen, and put salt on my popcorn,

Take that byyatch.

I then flopped onto the couch to watch the final Grand Prix of the year.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

Now many of you might say, “That is not really storming or anger”. And all I say to you is, you needed to be there. It was intense.

And … I did not once tell her who was winning the Grand Prix. The fact she hates Formula One and does not know the difference between Ferrari and Yuki Tsunoda is neither here nor there. The point is, I snubbed her.

I will admit I was struggling to focus on the Grand Prix. Max was winning yet again, and I was plotting evil ways to thwart Roberto the Handyman.

He would be overcooked pasta in my hands.