Satiricus was waiting for his wife to return. Mrs Satiricus had gone berserk over the blackout. The power was still not back on after almost half a day. It was now Christmas Day. She hadn’t gone because all her meats in the freezer have all spoiled. Even the turkey ham. It was not that the low voltage just before the blackout had blown her microwave.
She’d lost it when her Christmas cakes “fell” in the oven when there was no electricity to switch back on the oven flame. Mrs Satiricus didn’t usually make too many waves…she was even more easygoing than Satiricus. But when you destroyed her Christmas cake, all bets were off.
Everybody in the family and then some (read neighbours) looked out for Mrs Satiricus’ Christmas cakes. How was she going to get through the rest of the year without any cakes to share around? What really bugged the poor woman, it was clear, was “The Promise”.
“Why the blasted arse the head power man had to promise we no blackout?” she shrieked at Satiricus.
“I doan know, dear,” said Satiricus in a placating voice. He knew you didn’t mess around when the wife had that gleam in her eye. “
“Look at how dem cake fall,” she moaned as she glared at the cakes. “Dem gone in like Gandhi belly!”
Mrs Satiricus had been working away at her Christmas cakes since day clean. She didn’t go for any of the newfangled devices that were supposed to free housewives from the kitchen. She also didn’t make black cake. Her specialty was fruit cake and her reputation in this concoction was formidable. She got black cake from her mother.
It was sheer elbow grease that whipped all that sugar into the butter. And even more elbow grease to beat the eggs and then all the flour and fixings. Satiricus would’ve been surprised if each cake didn’t have her sweat in them.
“If I catch that power man, I gon shove all this stuff up his behind,” Mrs Satiricus swore. She was really tripping now. “If he didn’t promise we power, I woulda bake the blasted cake in we brick oven!”
“Now dear…Watch your tongue. Doan forget it’s Christmas,” Satiricus was trying valiantly to head off the storm, which, he knew was increasing in intensity. “At least now we know why we get blackout.”
“Why??” Mrs Satiricus screamed.
“He say the power was tripping,” answered Satiricus.
“Tripping?? Tripping???” screamed Mrs Satiricus as she scooped up a cake in each hand and ran towards the road. “Ah gon show him some real tripping!!!
Satiricus hoped the power man had his rear protected.
Hell hath no fury like a woman whose Christmas cakes were made to fall.
Satiricus wondered when his wife would get back home.