“Tapas For Table Twelve!”

My wife is currently deep in conversation with a friend on the telephone, mainly appraising her about a fictional book she’d just finished. I hope her friend isn’t overly fussed about reading this tome as Karen has just talked her through it’s ‘unexpected’ ending.

Evidently, this conclusion involved a homicidal chef being murdered and eaten by his spouse. As alluded to, my other half Karen wasn’t expecting this finale despite it’s less than cryptic title ‘The Woman Who At The End Ate Her Murdering Chef Husband’.

Despite manfully attempting to shut out the literary critique of this impromptu telecommunications book club, I’m alarmed to have overheard my missus inform her friend “It was a great book….. I got loads of tips from it!”

Consequentially, her remark has had me mulling over what possible tips could she have have acquired from a book about a woman who eats her chef spouse. Could it be cannibalistic recipes to spice up our culinary menu? Or even more macabrely, the idea of doing away with me; my various parts becoming ingredients in a sadistic tapas!

tapas

Or was she alluding something perfectly innocent in her Tyneside dialect, such as learning where to get a good set of chef’s knives to replace our incumbent blunt set? Cutting utensils of such inadequate sharpness that you could “ride bare arse to York on them!”, to steal a saying from a colourful family member.

I’ve not been this anxious or wary of my wee missus’ motives since she bought me a lion taming theme day for my birthday. This was purchased with explicit instructions for the trainer to leave the chair and whip he uses to keep the lion at bay. Mercifully, on the day the bungling lion tamer brought the chair and whip, but forgot the lion.

Listen to me though, worrying that my betrothed has clandestine intent to harm me. Come on Gary, grow a pair. If nothing else, they’ll add to the feast if you do get turned into tapas!

Karen has come off the phone now. Her normal chirpy parting words of “See ya!” delivered in her distinctive Geordie brogue absent today, instead hanging up laughing maniacally. Shortly followed by asking if my cordless hedge trimmer was fully charged.

I’m sure she’s only asked if the trimmer is charged as I need to cut back the Russian Vine in the garden. A task required before the last brown bin (garden waste) empty of 2017. Now its scarlet autumnal leaves have been ravaged by Storm Brian, the extensive vines need cutting back as part of pre-winter garden maintenance.

On reflection I’m convinced I’m fretting unnecessarily about my missus formulating plans to embark on ‘Operation Neutralise Gary Strachan’; or indeed ‘Operation Neuter Gary Strachan’ for the purpose of providing sweetbreads for tapas.

The more I mull over my concerns, the more I’m convinced the worrying is unwarranted. After all, for what possible reason would my wife want to slice me up and cook me at Gas Mark 7 for 30 minutes?……. Actually, I probably shouldn’t dwell on her possible motives for too long!

Relax Gary!…… Your spouse of 29 years, has no intention of harming you after reading ‘The Woman Who In The End Ate Her Murdering Chef Husband’. The wife of the chef was driven to her actions to mitigate against her husband’s homicidal tendencies. You hiding in a wardrobe to startle Karen doesn’t equate in magnitude to the chef’s grotesque misdemeanours.

Right, I’m going to stop referring to myself in the third party and go help Karen find her Jason Voohees mask…… I hadn’t realise she’d taken up ice hockey!

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