Could you do me a favour and stick a dark wash on?
The Good Lady yelled from the depths of the house.
I looked up from the beanbag I was sprawled on whilst I navigated the depths of space in Starfield, my latest Xbox addiction and chuckled.
In the game, I slaughtered some space pirates that were attempting to kidnap some good citizens and hold them to ransom. Then after the good citizens thanked me and gave me a trfling reward I slaughtered them too.
I nodded happily. Truly life was good.
DADDY-BEAR?! I DONT HEAR THE WASHING MACHINE?!
I came to with a start and realised that all that innocent civilian rescuing and slaughtering had taken about fifteen minutes of real life time. Baws.
It's not on yet!?
I yelled to the disembodied voice that purported to be the Good Lady.
What if it wasn't? What if it was a sexy ghost, plotting to Dan Akroyd me?
I loosened my belt a bit to make it easier for whichever denizen of the afterworld was coming for some Boom Koftadas.
It's not on?! Please can you put the washing on right now?
The Good Lady's voice echoed a little exasperatedly from beyond the veil.
I chewed my lip. Maybe it wasn't a sexy ghost trying to seduce with talk of washes? Maybe it was the actual Good Lady with murder in her heart because I was a lazy XBox playing bastard?
That would be unfortunate.
I had better set this ghost a test.
IS THAT A RHETORICAL QUESTION?
I yelled, hopefully loudly enough to pierce the tenuous membrane between this world and the next.
There was no answer. In fact, the resulting silence from my question stretched out until even I began to feel uncomfortable.
Then I felt it, the tension building up to eruption point. Christ this is what it must have felt like in the final days of Pompeii. At least I wasn't jacking off into a clay pot like some of the poor bastards immortalised in ash seem to have been.
Would that count as glazing?
Hmm, such pondering.
The door to the lounge burst open and a deliciously furious Good Lady stood there, red-faced and trembling slightly like a magnificent Gazelle refusing to wear lederhosen.
Her stern gaze dropped to the XBox controller in my hand and then to the bean bag I was sitting on. Slowly it wandered over to the half-eaten bag of Doritos beside me. Her voice started out as a low cracking boom like thunder in the night sky.
Are you enjoying yourself Daddy-Bear?
She clenched her lips (not the naughty ones, I had no way of telling through the yards of cloth she was wearing. It was winter after all.)
Are you enjoying yourself Daddy-Bear, whilst I am up in the attic fixing the door to a cupboard?!?
Her voice boomed like the sea smacking the rocks at high tide. It was only then I noticed she was brandishing a screwdriver as if she knew what side screwed things and what side you hit people who annoyed you with.
She waved the screwdriver from side to side as if I were a naughty loose hinge.
Slowly and gently, I set the Xbox controller to one side and opened my mouth to answer.
Her eyes burned bright like a Californian hillside in the summer.
I raised a finger and cocked my head to one side.
Is that a Rhetorical question?
I asked mildly.
There was a mad sputtering noise then an almighty explosion.
In the ensuing eruption, I held one thought close to my heart.
At least I wasn't masturbating into a clay pot.
