The day began like many similar days mid-week, when the owner of the yacht club called a meeting to discuss the usual stuff. Membership, events, other yacht-related things whites and people wanting to be white cared about.
Rob – that was his name, of course – liked to end such meetings on a fun note. However, as he gripped the steel clipboard in his Scotch-ravaged fingers, he had a feeling that this announcement would not be as jolly as he wished.
“Well everyone, now for some, ah, fun stuff,” Rob said, feeling a bit of bile shoot up his oesophagus and almost up to his nose.
He put one hand in his tailored navy blue trousers and tried to steady himself as he heard a sort of creaking noise. Without looking, he knew what it was.
Priya, now bound to her electric mobility scooter, was showing her excitement the only way she knew how – by rocking from side to side in the thing.
“Well as you all know, our dear Priya is getting married,” Rob forced the words out of his mouth incredulously.
“Hwaaaaa!” The giant onion wearing a dress on the scooter made a noise like a killer whale spotting a porpoise.
Rob assumed the porpoise was the poor dolt she was about to wed and perhaps behead after coitus like an obese preying mantis that had fallen into a vat of tar.
“Yes, well, we’ll be having their wedding celebration right here are the club.” The wind seemed to go from him as he said this and looked at the mound of mass in the mobility scooter.
“Yeel all hev to cem! It’s right here et werk!” Priya squealed while rocking even more. It was the most she had moved in a year.
Murmurs of cordial agreement took place.
Well, it is at work, someone said.
“Yes, I’ll have to be there,” Rob chimed, remembering his wife’s sour face when he had let her know the news.
Rob had thought about letting Priya go. However, it seemed that she had over time become mentally handicapped. And Dubai had strict though unknown laws about those kind of people. What if her betrothed sued him? Rob had met the man once. He seemed handicapped too. They probably had a legal guardian who would sue him.
“Does she get the company discount for the event?” Becky the new girl asked.
“Ye-es” Rob said.
Suddenly he felt angry. Angry at his wife’s sour puss; angry about the squeaking; angry that he could see Becky’s pantylines but that his dick remained unsucked for a solid 10 months now.
“Do you think it’s wise to let someone like that hold an event here, and that too with a discount?” Becky crossed her legs.
These bitches.
“You see,” Rob walked across the floor with a bit too much flourish, “It’s because she is like that that we are doing this.”
The bile went down his gullet and never came back up again.
Priya squealed, but this time like a cornered warthog.
Rob felt his dick harden for the first time in months.
“That’s right you giant ball of cat’s fur, this is because you act like a diseased toad,” he unleashed, feeling completely unchained.
More squealing.
“I mean, what did you think, that some oversized hairball like you can come into a yacht club and just get a space here while you look like an overcooked Butterball turkey?”
There was giggling and some clapping. He was saying what they all felt.
Rob wanted to kick Priya. But he held back, and also feared re-injuring his groin from doing a split at a Halloween party after he had had too many daiquiris.
His mouth took over what his feet wished they could do.
“What are you anyway? You dress like a prostitute but have a body like a male bulldozer operator.”
She was full on crying now. He felt so free. There was a 50% chance Becky was staring at his crotch, which may or may not have been at half mast.
“This isn’t just me, you filthy beast. It’s everyone here talking.” He really should try doing stand up comedy, or even political rallying, maybe if he went back to the UK once Brexit calmed down. “Fuck it, let’s call that piece of shite fiance of yours. God, the French would die if they knew two overfilled donuts like you were using that term to refer to one another.”
“Hello?” a voice squeaked through the speaker phone.
“Amrit?”
“Ah hello Mr. Rob. Just taking a nap in the toilet during work.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re busy as always Amrit. But I’m in the process of telling this overdone pork pie fiance of yours what a twat she is.”
“Oh that bitch!” Amrit began yelling. “You stupid fat cunt! You make me eat burgers from your pussy. Sheee such bad smell!”
“Steeep eeet!” Priya said, grabbing handlebars.
“What ‘steeep steeep?’ Put me on video Rob!”
Rob abided happily. Amrit’s ham-like face filled the screen. He was sweating like he had been at a rave inside an oven.
“You fat bitch! I have no friends because of you and your sausage! Are you happy now!!!? Happy with the sausage!”
Rob grimaced, as did the whole room, thinking Amrit was speaking about his penis.
He was not. Amrit was referring to the very first incident in which Priya sowed the seeds of discontent amongst his friends, all of whom ended up leaving him. It involved, as indicated, a sausage.
“Neeeeeeeew!!” Priya revved the scooter and squeaked out of the meeting room, rolling into the corridor.
She squealed from side to side, riding as fast as the scooter would allow, eventually hitting the main doors open and flying, if such a heavily weighed-down vehicle could do such a thing, into the street.
Smack-thud!
The white Pajero stopped and a man in a kandura got out. He seemed easily excitable.
“What the fuck!” he yelled at the air, and then again down at the wheels.
He saw the thing under the Pajero.
“What you do? You break my Bajero! Bitch!”
Priya groaned.
“Aye you make fun! No make noise like whale. You whale? You human?” He stopped and stepped back. “What, what you? Look like big buffalo. Buffalo on scooter? W’Allah.”
He scratched his gutra and came back to reality.
“Aye! Bitch! You break my Bajero! I put new shocks. Very expensive.”
He marched to the back doors and marched back.
“See? New shocks! From Japan! Not like you made in India, pyara sonia. Yes, I watch Alisha Chinai music video. Look!”
He blew her keratin-infused hair out of her face so she could see, would she open her eyes, the packaging.
“These worth more than you miserable life. Aye! Aye!”
He pulled out a medhwakh from his kandura pocket and smacked it on her temple.
“Wake up fix my dent bitch.”
It was a diny dent, but the man was enraged. Seeing Priya remain with eyes closed, he got in his Pajero and ran her over twice (reverse and then forward) before heading off to find a garage.
Rainbow Kandura 