Sun of A Gun

Doris schlepped her way into the kitchen still half asleep from another one of "those" nights. Her yellow flannel pajama's, with the goldfish blowing bubbles out of twisted mouths, were drenched from the nights sweat.

She opened the fridge door, sighing as the cool air tickled her body. Reaching into the usual spot, her hand found nothing. Then her hand thumped over a casserole dish and tupperware holding last nights’ supper but still no carton! Heart beating faster Doris peered in and shook at the gaping sight.

"Alllllrightttttttttttt !!! Who took MY soy milk !?!?!"

Hearing something gag, she spun around to see Fred spewing his coffee onto the linoleum floor.

"What the hell Doris ! That was soy milk ? No wonder the coffee tasted so bad. Why can't you just drink normal milk like the rest of us."

"Normal milk, NORMAL MILK ?!? Do I happen to look like I need NORMAL milk ?!?"

Fred, being the ever loving husband of 30 years knew better then to answer, and instead offered to make her breakfast; her favourite pancakes, poppy seed pancakes, like the ones he had just finished. The carbs will comfort her he thought.

Reaching into the pantry, he pulled out the glass container and this time put on his glasses. Oh dear, she’s not going to like this news.

“I’m sorry old girl, we seem to have run out of poppy seeds”, shaking the bottle at her, wondering what he used earlier.

Fred didn’t have much of a chance to think. Doris’s flaxseed container was quite empty, shattering hard as it fell to the floor from Fred’s limp hand. The impact of the iron skillet left a round indentation in his head, while fracture lines radiated around his skull.

“Well, sun of a gun” Doris mumbled staring at her dear Fred crumpled on the floor. “I thought that skillet was T-Fal.”


This was written for a challenge at The Inferno and all names have been changed to protect the guilty. har har