If youre set on that, Ill go back to Mum! declared the husband, his voice echoing through the cracked kitchen sink.
And you stay here alone! his wife snapped back.
Ethel was left perched on a splintered rung of a broken bucket: no lover, no job, no prospects. And the New Year loomed like a cold wind.
All those cursed nerves! her mother wailed upon hearing the scandalous news. Its all his fault, that scoundrel of yours; he led you astray! Do you think it was anyone else that made you snap?
So? Marty grinned. Start making peace Im waiting!
Ethel Whitfords life could be summed up in two misfortunes: not wealth, and not a road. The first was still a question mark.
The misfortunes turned out to be her doting husband and her beloved boss. As it often does for everyone else.
They werent a pair in the sense of cheating; they simply poisoned Ethels world each in their own solitary way.
Her husband was clever, witty, a sparkling conversationalist, and drenched in romanceuntil he was asked to work. Then he was suddenly ill, exhausted, unready, always later. He also loved a good meal, especially a hearty stew.
So everything unfolded like an old English folk tale:
Bubble, go eat your porridge!
Wheres my big spoon?
Before marriage, when meetings were brief, everything seemed fine: a quick dinner of takeaway pizza, a quality cuddle, a lively chat full of bright jokesnothing more could be asked for. That, they thought, was the perfect foundation for a wedding.
Ethel, head over heels, didnt notice that her fiancé was forever hunting for himself and for a job.
Ill find it, I promise! Youll be the first to know! the witty lad would say.
Both laughed, finding the absurdity horrifically amusing.
Martys wit was beyond praise; he began calling her Elfy and Elfypie, and she returned the favour with Martyboy. Not a literal monkeyjust a playful nickname, like little fish or silly sprite. In English, Martyboy sounded heftier, less insulting, and Ethel never meant to wound him.
When the wedding bells rang, Marty moved in with Ethel; his thirtyyearold, jovial husbands flat was nowhere to be found.
Jokes wont pay the bills! concluded Ethels mother, who never liked her soninlaw.
But who could stop him? He wasnt a comic writer or a TV gagman.
The first misunderstanding came over the rent. Ethels purse was empty, so she did what sensible wives do: she asked her husband.
It turned out Marty was always at home, searching for himself and a jobpreferably from the sofa, where ideas flowed easier. What if tomorrow Im called to fight and Im already spent? he mused.
Pay from your own stash! suggested Marty, his eyes twinkling.
My own stash ran out; I just bought groceries! Ethel replied, surprised at how different married life seemed from her dreams.
Then take what was given, and Ill replace it later!
When, exactly? she asked.
Later, when the soup and the cat are done! he chuckled.
At the wedding they were gifted roughly £200,000a tidy sum in their modest bank account. The Whitfords had stopped supporting Ethel after the marriage, insisting Let your husband feed you! Meanwhile, Marty, who had been living off his parents, was now denied any comfort: Youve moved out? Fine, good luck!
Ethels salary soon vanished. She dipped into the gift money again and again, watching the rainyday fund melt like a snowball.
When she opened the treasured box once more, it was empty. She had expected a few coins to linger, but the boxs hollowness was complete: Marty had taken the leftovers for a new set of headphones.
Her husband could not understand why he couldnt do thatold headphones no longer heard him! he joked, ever the wit.
What will you be, Rory? Ethel teased.
What, what? Come up with somethingyoure my craftswoman!
She tried, then fell silent; it was getting out of hand. The next day she borrowed until payday from her mother.
Did that stop Marty? No. He didnt dash off to find work. He simply quipped, I cant stand being ignored, especially by Ethel! and then, Enough of the puffedup talk, Elfy! I missed you
They made up, both missing each other, though a lingering bitterness lingered.
Borrowing until payday from Mum became a habit for Ethel, a moodsaver that did nothing to lift spirits. One day her motherinlaw could bear it no longer:
So, Marty, have you earned any gold yet? Or are you still living off Ethels neck?
Marty fell silent; the witty man had no retort. He could not argue with the truth.
The second misfortune in Ethels life was her boss, known to subordinates as The Lady Martha Baines. Ethel worked as an economic analyst.
Martha was a rare, bitter creature, a selfappointed ruler. Compared to her, the kindly Mrs. Proctor was a snowwhite angel.
Martha, a middleaged, solitary aunt who hated everyone simply for being born without her permission, despised both men and women. Shed survived three failed marriages, each husband cheating her.
By fifty, she led a department, childless, with two cats, and tangoed twice a week. Her orders to fire people flew left and right.
When junior Peter Redford, noting a tango class, joked that the boss might prefer leading a line dance over prancing on the floor, the decision was made in six seconds, as the office whispered.
The Lady, overhearing, declared coldly:
You are no longer employed here!
And that was final. Pleas, protests, and explanations fell on deaf ears; just a joke didnt count when everyone had laughed.
Ethel froze in Marthas presence, as many did. Yet fate still smiled on her, sparing her from a royal curse.
The night before New Years Eve, Ethel and Marty quarreled againmore often now, over trivialities that snowballed into a mountain of grievances. For the first time, Marty spoke of divorce.
The next morning, a distraught Ethel went to work with one purpose: to write a proper SMS to the offending man. She decided to call him not Martyboy but Martymonkey, which felt more insulting.
She drafted:
Dont think, Martymonkey, that Im scared of your words! Ill leave on my ownchew your elbows! Stop showing off, or Ill hand you over to the zoothere theyve already been waiting for you!
She signed not with Elfypie but formallyWhitfordso hed know she meant business.
The message felt right, humorous in the way Marty liked, and it voiced everything she wanted without malice. She wasnt looking to die on the spot; she merely wanted to settle the score.
New Years Eve approached, and as the saying goes, youll meet it the way you greet it. Divorce? They hadnt even spent a full year together!
Then her boss burst in, shouting:
Whitford, cheer up! The annual report is a messfix it and tell me when youll have the corrected version! Otherwise, dismissal is near!
Martha, buzzing with adrenaline, left the room satisfied, as if a Moorish victory had been claimed.
Ethel, stunned, stood rootedwhen a Lady entered, one was supposed to rise. The dark cloud broadened.
She quickly scanned the report, found the error, and sent an SMS to Martha, preferring not to approach in person: Ill have it corrected by lunch. She also sent a quick note to Marty.
Three minutes later, Martha called her in.
Who do you think you are, a monkey? she asked, tone flat, eyes on her phone. Sending me to the zoo, Whitford? Ha!
Ethels heart thumped wildly; she had mixed up the messages.
Martha, as it turned out, was indeed the monkey in the jokeher nickname fit her perfectly.
The scene felt absurd, like something out of a comedy film, yet neither woman was in the mood for laughter.
Ethel stared at the floor, unable to explain; everything seemed unreal yet oddly fitting. Dont think Im scared of your words, Ill leave on my own, Ill hand you to the zooGod, is this really happening?
Martha thought her staff had overstepped. Writing that? Thats beyond any decorum! she snapped, then added, Youre dismissed! She even imagined tossing the offender into a toilet.
Youll get your final calculation today: no more work needed! By the way, youll have time to visit the zoo!
After a pause, she added:
Your own lot has probably already arrived!
Thus the Lady triumphed. Ethel should have been more careful with her fingers.
She left the office, spent an hour and a half getting ready, then drove home with her cactus in the backseat, the money from the gifts already spent.
Start making peace, will you? Marty said, appearing in the hallway. Its the perfect time; you said youd sort it by lunch!
Marty, who had received the bosss SMS by mistake, realised Ethel had taken a day off to reconcile, and shed arrived just in time.
Why did you bring a cactus instead of flowers? he laughed. A man shouldnt give roses, thats not proper! Im waiting!
My proper is where you left it! Ethel shouted, nerves frayed. You see, Im about to stick this cactus somewhere! They fired me because of you!
In truth, everything made sense. If they hadnt argued the day before, she wouldnt have sent the SMS, and no one would have had to forward it.
The whole mishap could have been avoided if the logical chain had been sound.
Why is this my fault? Marty asked, genuinely surprised. Did I mess up again?
Not your dogs business! Ethel snapped.
I dont understand! the man exclaimed, ignoring her dismissal remarks. Little things like this will pass. So, you dont want to make peace? Finethen Ill go back to Mum! And you sit here alone!
Ethel was left on the broken bucket: no lover, no job, no future. And the New Year loomed.
All those cursed nerves! her mother concluded upon hearing the spectacular news. Hes to blame, that scoundrel; he led you astray! Do you think anyone else made you snap?
What did you cling to, I cant tell? Hes like a soap bubbleshimmering on the surface, empty inside!
Choose your suitors more carefully, dear, and watch what you bring home!
Alrightdont weep; nobody died. Rest for a bityour father and I can feed you easily.
Mother invited Ethel to spend New Years at her house; a friend promised to bring her handsome, single son.
Grandmother joined too:
Think of it as a loss; let someone else tap their spoon elsewhere! And stop trying to get free vinegarthis house is fed up!
She added, echoing Mum:
Choose your lovers more carefully!
Ethel and Marty eventually split; theyd stopped understanding each othersad, cruel, and utterly hollow.
Even the old comic writer was right: she should have done everything more carefully.
Take note, Ethel, especially with SMSes; see what can happenlater youll be left digging through the mess.
