Two hours ago, the phone rang. I heard a pervert rasping and spewing on the other end. I couldn't quite make out what was being whispered.
"Alright, creep. What do you want?" I demanded.
A voice like that of Darth Vader said, "Ammm osssaad. Daaaa lokkk. Lehhhh minnnn. Haaaarrrq."
"Who is this? I'm not in the mood for this sorta crap," I growled into the receiver.
"Lehhh meennnn. Ahhhh yaaaam owwww saaaa," half croaked, half whispered Deep Throat over the phone.
I turned right, squinted through the curtains and noticed a white generic car beside our black cars. It dawned on me that DH rode in to work with a friend today since he was going to pick up a state car for tomorrow. Agency cars in Florida are blob o'white Saturns or Impalas or similar generic, cheap piece o'sheets.
"Is that you?" What are you doing here? I growled into the phone.
How irritating. It was most probably W4D home early and acting very strangely. I stomped my way to the back door and peered out the window and indeed, The Lubricator was standing there in a blue hoodie zipped all the way up, hood all bunched around his neck in a wad like he was stranded in the Alps in a blizzard. It was sunny, beautiful and 66 degrees outside. The man was bundled up like the abominable snowman and was glaring at me through the glass.
I yanked open the hard door. "What the heck are you doing out there? You're early. Why didn't you come in?"
"Skreee dahhh lokkkk."
Indeed the screen door was locked because I didn't expect W4D home at this time of day and I had earlier had the hard door open catching the fragrant spring breezes. I let him in.
Good Lord. You have never seen such carrying on.
The man has a sore throat. He's acting like he is terminally ill and may pass on to the other side at any moment. He had a sore throat last night, too. He whined. I tried to be patient. There is no fever. That's it, a freakin' sore throat and a little laryngitis.
He's gone upstairs to bed now. I'll have to go up there and coo over him, make clucking noises, plump his pillows and take him cold orange juice, hot soup and a spoonful of honey or something. For a man who never complains, when the Lube gets a headache or a bruised foot or a sore throat, you'd think the world will soon end. I guess it's a small price to pay for having such a normally good-natured man and more importantly, one who puts up with my daily rants and remembers to put down the toilet seat. Thank goodness we rarely ever get even a cold in this house.
Flaurella Sore Throat Elixir
I put a shot of vodka his OJ and he won't even be able to taste it.
Night, night, manly man.