Snapped

  As anyone could tell from the raucous laughter, the mimosas had been flowing freely at the ladies’ monthly Sunday potluck brunch. Bella broke off in the middle of the punchline of her joke about the bishop and the pole dancer as the doorbell rang.

      “That must be Phyllis,” said Lucille, the hostess. “I was beginning to worry. She’s never late.”

   Sure enough, when she opened the door, Phyllis was standing there clutching her signature quiche. She was trembling and seemed in danger of dropping it. Lucille deftly grabbed the dish and escorted her into the sitting room, gently steering her to a chair. She frowned in concern as she noticed that Phyllis was on the brink of tears.

        “What is the matter, dear?”

The others gathered round. Phyllis was a quiet, soft-spoken lady who never displayed much emotion, but the tears suddenly came in floods.

          “You need a stiff drink,” said Bella.

          “But I’m teetotal,” Phyllis said.

          “Not at this moment, you’re not. I’ve never seen you this upset. Get her a mimosa, Margaret, please.”

Margaret hurried to obey. Phyllis did not have the strength to resist Bella, something not done easily at the best of times. She took a big gulp of the mimosa. It tasted pleasant enough that before she knew it, the glass was empty, and she was holding a refill. It did seem to calm her down and soon her sobs had subsided to an occasional sniffle.

           “It’s Herbert,” she said. “We’re having a crisis.”

The others looked at each other, mystified. Herbert was a nondescript little man, with a comb-over and a potbelly. He and Phyllis had been married for over forty years and had never been known to quarrel, in public at least.

             “Is he having an affair?” said Lucille. “He looks so homely, who would want…Oh, lord, I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I meant that he seems like such a family man.”

Margaret laughed sardonically.

             “Looks don’t have anything to do with it. Look at my Ralph. He wasn’t an oil painting to start with, and that was forty years ago. Then that little hussy got her claws into him last year. Mind you, he did have a six-figure income at the time. Of course, that was before my divorce lawyer cleaned him out. Herbert hasn’t won the lottery, has he?”

             “Is he gambling? Drinking? Doing drugs?” said Margaret. “I saw him the other day in the supermarket, and he seemed perfectly sober. He greeted me just as usual.”

Phyllis had regained her composure and was dabbing at her eyes.

              “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. It’s just that since Herbert retired, he doesn’t have anything to do. It’s driving me crazy. He hangs around while I'm getting dressed. He wants to go shopping with me. He follows me out into the garden. He even tried to invite himself today. But it all came to a head last night at dinner time. It culminated in violence. I am lucky to be a free woman today.”

The others stared at her as if she were speaking in tongues. Finally, Lucille spoke.

     “What exactly are you saying? Where is Herbert? Is he alright? Should we be worried?”

Phyllis finished her mimosa and waved her glass. Bella grabbed it for a refill.

     “He’s fine, simply scared. He went to his sister’s place last night.”

      “For goodness’ sake, tell us what happened,” said Margaret. “The suspense is killing me.”

Phyllis took a large gulp of her mimosa, set her glass down and hiccuped genteelly.

       “Very well. It began when I went into the kitchen to make dinner. You all know that I love to cook. It calms me down. Even when life is chaotic, I know that when I chop this and measure that and season the other, I have control and I know what the result will be. Now that Herbert is under my feet all day long, cooking is even more therapeutic than usual. Last night he followed me into the kitchen.”

A gasp of horror went round the room.

         “Oh, no. He didn’t!” said Lucille. “The man has no boundaries.”

         “Don’t tell me that,” said Bella. “Now I’m worried.”

          “Oh, my,” said Margaret, clutching her chest. “I think I need another mimosa, dear Lucille, if you don’t mind.”

          “Just wait…it gets worse. He sat there watching me work. I took a deep breath and prayed for patience. I do understand that after so many years of being a bank manager and being “someone”, it is hard to suddenly adjust to being retired and being “no one”. But then he started correcting me and suggesting how I can do things better. This from a man whose only kitchen experience in forty odd years has been to pick up a teaspoon to stir his coffee. I snapped. I picked up the closest utensil, which luckily was a wooden spoon and not a carving knife, and I beat him with it. I picked up the eggs I had laid out and threw them at him. I had measured a cup of flour for my pie crust and I dumped it on his head. He ran like I have never seen him run before. The terrible thing is that I didn't feel sorry at all. It felt good! Now you see why I am in such a state. I don't know what else I might be capable of."

    There was a shocked silence, and then the ladies broke into guffaws of laughter.

    “There is not a jury in the land that would convict you, dear,” said Lucille.

     “There is only so much provocation that one person can take,” said Margaret. “You were justified in battering him, in all senses of the word. You had the eggs and flour; all you were missing was the milk.”

They hooted at that. Even Phyllis smiled, ruefully wiping her eyes.

      “We will be character witnesses for you. We will help you obtain a new identity. Whatever you need, just say the word,” said Bella. “Though I must say I am glad we’re not burying a body.”

Lucille looked thoughtful.

        “I was watching one of those reality shows the other day where they stage a surprise intervention to scare someone straight. Why don’t we do that with Herbert? He needs to get a hobby and make some friends. Phyllis is right. If it had been a carving knife to hand instead of a wooden spoon, she could have been in big trouble. Orange may be the new black, but it is not your color, Phyllis."

Phyllis nodded.

        “Herbert would have been in worse trouble. Please see if you can talk some sense into him. I love him, but he has to stop trotting around at my heels all day like a puppy.”

       Bella grinned.

    “Just tell us where his sister’s place is, and we are on the way. You stay here and enjoy another mimosa!”