​I’m at work, it’s a typical Wednesday morning. Nothing much going on around here . Back at my house , it’s laundry day. Whenever I leave for work every Wednesday, I leave my laundry basket outside for the laundry mamaa to come do her thing. But little did I know the spawn of evil roam freely amongst us, disguised as friendly neighbours. 

So this mamaa calls to politely inform me that unfortunately she could not do my HUSBAND’S several pairs of jeans on this day for some reason I don’t remember as I was in the middle of a mini heart attack at that point. A husband? WTF? Just the thought that I could be harboring a genie husband gives me chills. I probe and dissect, grilling the lady so hard you might think she was in the middle of the chickengate scandal. 

From what I gather, a man’s dirty laundry has been making it’s way in my laundry basket every Wednesday for almost two months now. The lady didn’t question it, in fact she was  elated coz she normally feels that I might be packing a couple of expired ovaries, having been alone for this long. I now get why there are always gaps between my clothes on the hanging line. The culprit must be unhanging his clothes just before I get home. I zero in on a suspect, the only other bachelor on our plot. He’s home unusually early every Wednesday. 

I give him a call and as with any other person caught in a scandal he denies everything. He quickly retracts his statement when I inform him that I’m holding a flame over his clothes at that particular moment. He tell me it was an “accident”, an honest mistake and could we get to some sort of agreement. 

What makes me fume even more is when I remember just yesterday, this neighbour decided to grill some chicken on our shared porch and terrorized me with sweet aromas for what seemed like hours. Even after I spent a better part of my evening making small talk with him, he never gave me a single piece of chicken! Then to find out every Wednesday he has been branding himself my husband! 

“You should have given me that piece of chicken “, I text him. That alone is a threat that will guarantee him having a restless afternoon. Fear of the unknown. I think I’ll mimick the lady in house 7,  whenever she has a disagreement with the husband she sits on the porch and starts sharpening a machete for some reason … grinding the blade against the cold  hard floor for hours. That act is enough to send the guy to his knees begging for forgiveness (women though?). 

To cut the story short, this man will experience my full wrath when I get home today. He stupidly placed hot coals on his head and for that, drama and chaos will be knocking on his door tonight. 

While on it, I think I need to move to a better neighborhood? This one is slowly turning into a mental asylum. 


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