Having made a life size papier-mache replica of the Titanic from the hole punch dots I had swept out from my car, I decided the right thing to do was not retaliate. That would be childish. Seconds later I changed my mind and set about a plan that would amaze and excite any six year old child.
Fine. I just needed a bit of time to have a think about something suitable. It needed to be crafty and cunning. Nothing too unpleasant, but bad enough to provide me with hours of juvenile sniggering.
Unfortunately, before I knew it, it was 2-0 to Mrs Danzers. Having left my car to buy myself a full fat Latte at a service station, I returned and noticed that I was proudly displaying the words 'dickhead' on my rear bumper, embedded in the dirt. This was war.
My marriage is on and off like a pair of tarts knickers. One minute there is light, the next there is darkness and a few months ago during a pitch black period I strategically placed a large portion of smoked Haddock under the bonnet of my wife’s Audi. It sat perfectly on her engine and was positioned close enough to the air intakes to make her pride and joy smell like Grimsby docks within minutes.
She didn’t know it was me and it was nice to see her fury but not take the responsibility for a change, but this time I wanted her to know. It took her three weeks and two professional valets to clear the smell of rotting smoked fish. It truly did smell.
Panicking for ideas, it was time for the smoked Haddock to return. I took a trip to the supermarket and asked the fishmonger for the smelliest of all smelling smoked Haddock; and make it a large one. I placed the yellow peril in the bag and grinned uncontrollably for hours.
My work that day was affected by the constant deliberation about how I was going to get the horrid Haddock onto the engine. Last time it was easy, she was sunbathing in the garden tanning her orange peel. This time was more tricky.
That evening, I checked the oil in my car and then kindly asked if she would like me to check hers too. “You don’t need too, the car tells me”, she said indignantly. “Let me check anyway, better to be safe than sorry”. It was a feeble line and I felt nervous about my ability to pull it off, but it seemed to work and she agreed.
I checked the area for prying eyes and released the heavy Haddock from my pocket and placed it on the engine, pushing in tightly. I looked around again before closing the car bonnet making myself look even more suspicious than a raincoat-wearing pensioner in a public toilet, and shut the lid.
The night passed slowly, I was nervous and she was visibly suspicious. I considered retrieving the Haddock and trying another day but I had made my bed and I was sleeping in it.
The following morning I watched my wife drive off to work with a painful smile on my face. Did she see me, did she know, would she stab me in the left buttock later when I’m not looking.
I drove to work shortly afterwards and contemplated my fate, almost feeling a tinge of guilt. I was a bad husband.
As I approached work a terrible sense dawned upon me and I sniffed the air and then sniffed again. Oh my god! It was the most awful and overwhelming smell of a freshly cooked extra large portion of smoked fish, now wafting relentlessly through the air.
THE BITCH! She’d switched the Haddock!