Satan And Mrs. Satan

© 2013 David Jasmin-Green

“What do you mean, you don't like the burgundy flock wallpaper I've put up on the chimney breast?” Brian Lucifer said to his missus.

“Which part of 'I don't bloody well like it' don't you understand?” she replied. “It's vile. Rip it down while it's still wet, we'll go and buy some decent paper on Monday, something with nice bold black and red roses, maybe.”

“The kids hate it too. It's a bloody conspiracy, none of you like anything I do in an attempt to beautify this place. You've never stopped taking the piss out of that lovely pine spice rack I made with tender loving care for you, Mandy. And yesterday I overheard you talking to Mrs. Jones next door, you were both sniggering about my new fence. I'm seriously thinking of spending my time and money down the Wanking Pig with my mates instead of spending it on this bloody house.”

“The spice rack you made looked like a blind haddock had knocked it together with random chunks of scrap wood, there were nails and screws and sharp splinters sticking out all over the place. I placed my expensive jars of spice on its rickety shelves to humour you and the damned thing fell off the wall, smashing them all to bits. And the less said about your sodding fence the better.....”

“You vicious harridan! I've got a good mind to fetch my sledge hammer out of the shed and smash down every improvement I've ever made to this property. You can wave bye-bye to the tasteful brick effect arches I built at either side of the chimney breast for a start, plus the lovely serving hatch I installed so that we don't have to carry loaded dinner plates all the way from the kitchen. Worked my fingers to the bone in this house I have, woman. What have you done worth shouting about? Strangely enough just a single example of your handiwork comes to mind.

Remember when you were nagging me about the state of our mouldy bathroom walls day in and day out before we had it tiled and fitted an extractor fan? I didn't have time to do anything about it, I was doing a lot of overtime by the fiery brimstone lake to pay off our overdraft and credit card bills, and our merciless vulture of a bank manager was threatening to throw us all out on the street. You bought a tin of putrid puke green vinyl silk and painted the walls yourself while I was at work frightening the living daylights out of the latest batch of sinners, and I've never seen such a mess in my life – it took me nearly three days to scrape the paint off the floor, the bath, the sink and badness knows what else. You even painted my shaving mirror, the toilet, the bog roll, most of the window and the sodding cat.”

“I did not paint the cat, you lying get! And my painting looked quite professional until Tiddles wandered in and rolled in the paint tray while I was cooking the dinner, she made most of the mess.”

“Right..... Talking about dinner, what are we having?”

“You've already eaten, you greedy bastard. You've been for a picnic with the kids, you sent me a text asking me to get myself a bag of fish and chips on the way home, remember?”

“Aah, yes; I'm still a bit peckish, though, the long walk burned up all the calories I ingested and honed my appetite.”

“You ate all of the cakes and biccies I bought yesterday as well.”

“You lying get! The kids ate those. Well, most of them.”

“You lying get. You need to watch your waistline, Brian, it's not healthy, a man of your age carrying as many spare tyres as you have. You spend too much time idling in front of the TV drinking Kestrel Super instead of keeping active, jogging, weight training, playing football, taking long walks with the dog and line dancing like you used to.”

“Spare tyres? I'm as fit as a fiddle - I'll have you know I'm exactly the same weight as I was when I was twenty one. And what do you mean by a man of my age? I'm a spring chicken, I'm only eleven thousand nine hundred and sixty three.”

“Have you looked in the mirror recently? I don't mind you having a pair of reasonably sized love handles, but your bellies are getting out of control. And you are not the same weight as you were when you were twenty one at all, you lying get, you were fifteen stone when we got married and now you're nearer twenty. You're ruining the furniture, you fat fuck. You have to think of your heart and your arteries, my love, they're probably clogging up with cholesterol as we speak.”

“Great!” Mr. Lucifer said, “just bloody great. Not only am I shit at DIY, I'm also a useless fat bastard. That's it, I'm jumping in the shower, putting on my stars and stripes Doctor Martens and my new lime green and pink tiger striped onesie and going down the pub. Don't wait up, m'dear.”

“You look a right twat in that onesie.”

“I know, you've told me before.”