Zoodles

Hey, have you moved the spiraliser?

The Good Lady echoed weirdly from the depths of one of the kitchen cupboards in which she was so deep that only her bootie and hind legs we poking out.

I wandered into the kitchen and looked down quizzically at her backbits.

Huh? It's hard to make you out from in there.

I said with the slightly disinterested air of a man counting down to wine o'clock.

I said, have you moved the SPIRALISER?

She shouted so hard that her bum waggled and in my head, I imagined that it was the one doing the talking.

It waggled more as she started levering herself backwards out of the cupboard and finally plopped out red-faced and panting as if having given her all on the jazz kazoo. I turned and gave her my best Jim Carrey talking ass impression.

For fuck sake, stop that!

Her hand darted out and slapped my bahookie hard.

Har!

I whipped back around and pulled my trousers up.

What were you asking under there, my sweet?

I tried to look serious despite the fact she was covered in dust and her hair was sticking up in wild directions from her excursion under the countertops like Doc from Back to the Future.

Maybe she was going to tell me it was time to go back?

I was asking where the bloody spiraliser was. I can't find it and I want to make some courgetti.

She pouted crossly as if Minnie Mouse had borrowed her hairband again.

I drew myself up to my full terrible height and glowered down at her distastefully. Not only had she mentioned the infernal machine but also Courgetti. Urgh, the name itself made me shudder almost as much as the thing itself.

Although, at least she hadn't said zoodles.

I am afraid I threw it out.

I said, setting my lips in a flat brooking no-nonsense line.

You bloody what?!

The Good Lady snapped like a mousetrap at the cheesy gates of rodent heaven.

Yes, I threw it out. I am not having that nonsense polluting this house. The poor children, one minute they think they are getting spaghetti and the next minute you plop down a bowl of stringy vegetables doused in lemon and coriander.

I tossed my hands up in disgust.

Whatever next, will you fart in their mouths and tell them they're having beef koftas!?

I folded my arms across my chest.

You... you can't have thrown it out? I loved that thing!?

The Good Lady looked aghast like a Blurt user hearing of the new Mute function.

It's gone. Dead. In the bin. We shall have no such devilry here.

I stifled a fart of triumph.

I can't believe you would do that?!

The Good Lady stomped off in disgust shouting terrible derogatory things about men that I was quite sure were illegal on Twitter.

I laughed heartily till I was sure she was gone then I crept out of the house to the garage.

In the dankest blackest corner I switched on an old yellowing lamp and pulled a cardboard box out from a grubby shelf.

Sneering malevolently, I tugged the box open. The spiraliser cowered within.

I lifted a long skinny knife.

I'm not finished with you yet my friend. Oh no, not by a long chalk.