Wednesday, February 21

spuds

enid and the man are getting dressed for dinner. their posher clothes are checked through to kiev, so enid's having to wear her jeans again. she hitches them up by jumping in the air and hoisting them. (hey, it works for her, don't knock it.)

the man clearly thinks this is ridiculous. pulling his best satire face, he copies her. in mid air, he screams, "fucking hell!", then jumps around the room frog-wise, clutching his genitals.

"what's up?"

in a forty-a-day voice, the man gasps, "i crushed one of me spuds!"

enid does not show the sympathy that is expected, unless the sympathy that is expected is to hoot with mocking laughter - which after almost ten years of marriage, it probably is.

8 comments:

ChrisB said...

I should be offering sympathy to the man instead of laughing but the picture this conjures up is so funny

Beccy said...

Serves him right for taking the mickey out of you. lol!

Tristan said...

... i started to write several different comments, but the mere thought that through the power of the internet the news of ones spud crushing came straight through to my RSS reader, from way over on the west coast, in nearly real-time?

Smashin.

Little Miss Moi said...

Dear enid. Not that I know first hand, because I'm a girl, but in Australia, they call them 'Jatz Crackers'.

enid said...

thanks chris! beccy, enid thinks it serves him right too. taking the mick out of enid is never a good thing.

tristan, it's even better than that. this happened in london and was posted from molvania. half way across the world to bring you spud news. (good name for a blog that, spud news.)

little miss moi, really? enid will have to tell the man there's a real australian diagnosis. tee hee.

Wendz said...

Poor man....but a 40-a-day voice? He's special...I'd have thought it would be a soprano squeal.

Spuds....heh heh heh...men have so many names for their bits and bobs.I keep hearing new ones.

Billyboy said...

Spuds. The man must be hung like a horse. I only have pips!

enid said...

wendz, it really was a 40-a-day voice. the sort of voice you get if you're dying of emphysema and can't breathe at all.

billyboy, you're so modest. the man might refer to his own dangly bits as spuds, but enid would choose something a little smaller. gooseberries, perhaps.