‘Are you… are you joking?’
My wife looked up at me from her desk. Even with the several feet of height I had over her, she absolutely towered over me from her office chair.
‘I, uh… it happened again,’ I gave up with a sigh.
She rocketed to her feet, the wheelie chair spinning back away from her (which wasn’t an easy feat to accomplish on carpet).
‘Come with me!’ she growled, grabbing me by the ear and whisking me out of the room before I could protest.
Little Michael poked his head out of his bedroom, but quickly shut the door after a look from his mother.
‘Are you going to blame him this time, too?’ she glared at me, still dragging me towards the balustrade.
‘I didn’t blame him—’ I squealed as she twisted my ear, ‘—no, no, it was all me!’
We finally arrived at what had used to be our glass balustrade, now lying in a heap on the tiling… for the second time.
‘So what is it, Julian?’ she asked me, letting go of my ear. ‘Do you think we can afford to buy every glass balustrade for sale in Melbourne?’
‘No, of course I don’t—’
‘Do you think I didn’t like that one?’ she pressed, on a roll. ‘Did you think I wanted a new one? Something more colourful?’
‘Well, now that you mention it…’ I scratched the back of my head. The blood chilled in my veins as her eyes flashed with a definitive look: wrong answer.
‘Maybe you should become a glazier,’ she mused with a sneer. ‘Build your way up from residential glazing services until you’re in the balustrade game!’
‘Oh, god no,’ I chuckled. ‘Have you seen how clumsy I—’
She silenced me with another look. She was getting good at those, I mused to myself.
‘Now, Julian,’ she started, her heels clicking as she strode past me to grab her coat. ‘I’m going out for dinner with some friends. When I get back, this needs to be gone – or you’d better be.’
The door slammed shut behind her.
She was getting good at those too.