“Ok, here’s a challenge for you…write something hilariously funny say tragedy to humour. I’m good at that…someone gets hurt, I instantly laugh, out loud, can’t help myself. I suppose it’s nervous laughter but I have dozens of stories but my kids won’t allow me to say it out loud here mwhahaha” – Covert Novelist.
I fell in the bath the other day. It wasn’t anything serious. It wasn’t like I was there, in the bottom of the tub, with my neck twisted around the taps thinking ‘oh no, I hope the neighbour doesn’t see me like this!’
Why I would think of that woman at a time like that is beyond me. I mean, it’s not as if I think of her as I open the bathroom window to let out the steam from the shower.
And if I do linger there, fresh from the hot water – my body drying in the breeze blowing in while I brush my teeth, it’s not as if I’m really staring across at her window across the way. It’s just there, you know? Where else am I supposed to look?
She moves behind the frosted glass. It’s easy to tell whether she has something on or not because she favours darker clothes – even her underclothes. Not that I really notice. It’s just what passes across my vision as I stand. With the window wide open. Just soaking in the fresh air. Brushing my teeth.
So, no – no reason at all to think of the woman discovering me lying in the bath at a rather unbecoming angle. No reason at all. Except that she has a spare key so that she can come in and waters the plants when I’m away. And if she doesn’t see me in the drive, then she knows to let herself in.
The plants have never looked healthier.
Her name? Cornelia. But don’t let that trick you into thinking that I know her well. I mean, plenty of people know their neighbour’s name, right? Lots of people give a spare key to someone. For emergencies?
It was just a bruise anyway.
I was leaning on the bath with one hand, and washing the tub down with the other. All it took was a bit of soap in the wrong place, at the wrong time – and half a second later my shoulder smashed into the side of the bath.
No – of course it didn’t hurt! Why would something as trivial as that hurt a man like me!
Pretty colours, though. Black, green, orange, yellow and puce. No, I’m not entirely sure what ‘puce’ means neither. But it sounded about right when Cornelia said it. And it felt about right when she stroked my arm. And when she kissed it better? That was nice too.
And as for the rest? You’ll just have to mind your own bee’s knees, won’t you!