Polish

This is another attempt on my part to annoy Sam by posting about anything that isn't the film we're supposed to be making... BitterSuite.If a commercial is required then it's here: BitterSuite will be awesome. Give money to make it happen via KickStarter.

There. Now on to my story.

A while ago I met a middle-aged couple at an airport who told me this story which is both short and amusing, and therefore blog-appropriate, in my eyes.

The guy was an electrician and out at work all day, and his wife had retired early, once his business was stable, to spend time at home being a mother to their kids (who'd already moved-out) and a wife to their house (house-wife).

Except, she did fuck-all all day. She lunched with her friends, watched TV, and went shopping. She openly admitted to not caring one bit about the state of the house, and, after a week or so of this, her husband had started to get annoyed when he came home and the place was filthy.

The wife felt guilty this, but she also loved her freedom, hated cleaning, and, for some reason, couldn't just own that. 

So, on about the eighth day of this new dynamic, when she knew her husband was coming home, at, say, five-to-seven, she went around the house spraying polish into the air. Great, thick swathes of Pledge or Mr. Sheen, so that the house would at least smell like it had been cared for.

When her husband came home, he walked into the living room, smelt the polish and immediately slipped on the parquet floor that was greased to the nines by the settling polish cloud, landing on his spine.

The result was he was bed-ridden, incapacitated for several months with a major back injury, and they were both at home together, with her looking after him.

But I met them at an airport where they were about to go on a skiing holiday, so I guess it all worked out.

Anyway, there's a moral in there somewhere.

Jan