Desexed and banished to the doghouse

FREDERICK FRANKLY: It is a well-established fact that brave men run in my family but I had a feeling of impending doom.

OPINION PIECE: NewsMail columnist Frederick Archer shares his thoughts. . Picture: Scottie Simmonds

IT IS a well-established fact that brave men run in my family but I had a feeling of impending doom.

My darling wife was smiling at me. I immediately chewed on several more pickled onions and washed them down with a good swallow of rum. At least she would not be able to accuse me of having bad breath.

I became even more alarmed when she began sidling towards me.

"You are going to give me pleasure," she purred, while her bosom heaved and her smile widened.

"Not sex again." I stammered. "We had that last year, or was it the year before?"

"I said," and my wife's voice took on that well used icy edge, "you are going to give me pleasure. Not sex."

"Good grief," I reacted in deep shock.

The dreaded Spring Fever had infected my wife for the third time in as many months.

Then she confirmed my diagnosis. "We, or rather you," she continued, "are going to rearrange the furniture. I want the king-size bed moved into your bedroom."

"But my room is the old toilet," I objected.

"It is too small for anything but my hammock."

Of course, I soon found myself struggling to haul the mattress into my room.

There were no handles on the mattress and it constantly sagged in all directions at once, much like my wife does when she insists on dancing after a dozen wines.

Eventually though, I had all the bed pieces and the mattress jammed into my room.

Somehow my wife's mongrel Chihuahua-something-cross had perched itself on top.

"Start assembling," my wife snapped, though it was obvious the bed would not fit within my bedroom.

Her mongrel meantime had somehow climbed on top of the mattress and was already snoring.

No wonder my wife and the dog were so fond of each other.

They had so much in common.

"Could you get Fi Fi off my bed please dearest?" I asked in my best cringing voice.

"I shall need to sleep somewhere."

Mummy's little boy lay snoring while I had to face the retracted lips, the exposed teeth and the deep growls coming from my wife's throat.

It was, I decided, best to leave a sleeping dog lie.

Originally published as Desexed and banished to the doghouse