I was tackling the never-ending list of chores at home on my much-needed day off. Out of the blue, an acquaintance phoned me and announced, with all the subtlety of a foghorn, that she and her son would be popping round. No matter how many polite hints I dropped about being elbow-deep in cleaning, she was blissfully oblivious.
Ten minutes later, there they were at my front door. I wasnt exactly thrilled to see young Oliver, as he had a talent for turning peace into pandemonium.
So there we were in the kitchen, sipping teabecause coffee is for emergencieswhile my friends son was glued to cartoons. Suddenly, the house was shaken by a noise that could easily be mistaken for a minor earthquake. I rushed in and, to my horror, discovered my aquarium in ruins. Fish lay strewn across the carpet, and water was making its way to every corner of the flat.
My friend bolted to Oliver to check if he was in one piece, while I grabbed towels and frantically tried to soak up the water before it made its way downstairs and threatened the neighbours ceiling. Once the chaos was somewhat contained, she informed me that they were off.
Perhaps you could help me haul the rug to the cleaners? I asked, ever hopeful.
No, Olivers absolutely petrified. We must calm him down, she replied, as if her son had seen a ghost rather than created a small marine disaster.
Curious, I asked Oliver what possessed him to meddle with the aquarium. Apparently, a paper plane had landed inside and he simply had to retrieve it. The clincher was that there wasnt a scrap of paper anywhere to be found. He pointed to the closet and claimed he got the plane from there. Turns out, the plane was crafted from my marriage certificate.
Well, just get another one printed. No big deal, my friend declared with breath-taking nonchalance.
Of course, why should I stress? I can buy a new aquarium, hunt down a replacement certificate, foot the bill for repairs to the downstairs neighbour, and apparently, invest in some magic invisibility paint for important documents. And as if the day needed an extra cherry on top, my friend blamed me for keeping my certificate within arms reach in the first place.
After my guests departed, I made my way to the neighbour to check for any aquatic fallout. I tidied up, dusted off my dignity, and finally collapsed for a well-earned rest. Come evening, my friend dropped me a message stating that I owed her money; theyd taken Oliver to a therapist because he was traumatised. With a sigh befitting King Lear, I didnt respond. I simply blocked her number and savoured the silence.
