“You bitch,” Amrit muttered, scratching his belly under his dirty t-shirt with one hand as he peered through the toy binoculars.
“Yew leeking for Dee-Eeem?” his wife Priya asked, her large black toad-like mass unomoving on the pale blue sofa. “He’s geeen vaaaaibve. Geen ferevaaa.”
Amrit put down the pink plastic binoculars that he had picked up in a garbage can outside a nursery. As fat as his wife was and thick, she was right.
He sighed.
The truth was that he had no idea where his former friend DM was. He had moved, Amrit knew. But there was no indication as to where.
Amrit had briefly spoken to DM’s wife on the phone a week ago. Having just eaten lunch, he had made a mistake in telling her a bit too much about their sad recent days.
“Heyyyy,” he had started on the phone, trying to form words in his drug-pockmarked brain, “Me an Priya we bought a dog, but dog bit the neighbour, now dog gone and Priya and me depressed maaa.”
He winced, remembering how DM’s wife had tried to not laugh at his obvious mental decline. DM would not be calling to wish him Xmas for sure.
Amrit turned from the balcony of the studio to stare at his wife. She was like a warthog wearing a dress. An inappropriate floral blue dress.
As grotesque as she was, he would have stuck his little lulleee in her at the drop of a hat. His depression had made him horny. Hers unfortunately made her want to do little except devour everything on the McDonalds menu except the salads, while pretending on Facebook that she ate healthy.
“Fat bitch,” Amrit said under his breath.
“Vaaaaaibve he went ceme beck,” Priya said from the couch, shifting her considerable weight. “Remember hew you ren from the delivery boy when he reng the doorbell because you’re poor? Dee-Eeem remembers. Hew you mede Rem pay fer the expensive coals yew ordered.”
Of course he remembered. Priya was right.
“And remember hew you shewed up drenk at Xmes and shouted on his belcony?” She actually laughed, a sort of jelly roll giggle.
Amrit remembered this too. What Priya was not mentioning was that the final straw that broke the camel’s back was her. DM had made it plain – he did not want her showing up at his house and sitting in a slump, scrolling FB as Amrit shouted into the oblivion.
But Amrit could not say this since he did not want another fight on his hands. Another was coming soon no matter what.
“Okay vaaibve enough belcony time,” Priya said. “Time to clean the bethroom. Especially the toilet.”
Amrit grimaced. “I don’t want to.”
“Yew went your 50 dirhems right you umepleyed tweet?”
He grumbled and walked into the bathroom. The toilet looked like someone had sprayed shit all over the bowl. Priya only shat once a week, but when she did it pepper-sprayed the toilet another colour.
Amrit vomited, and then began cleaning.
Rainbow Kandura 