Bang Bang

Daddy-Bear, would you be able to whip up a quick something to eat? I have asked Olette to stay for dinner.

I looked up from the dark pit of despair that was the chair in which I sat. I was hungover as hell. I hadn't been this hungover since my twenties. I felt as if a Badger had roughly wiped its chuff with me.

I cleared my throat of misery phlegm.

What? Food? Who?

The Good Lady did that hip cocking thing of hers that either meant I was in deep trouble or a sexy party was on its way.

Daddy-Bear? Dinner, can you whip up something fast and tasty?

I grunted as if stifling a frippery fart that might be something a little more solid.

The Good Lady's Doula friend, Olette, clapped her hands together.

Oh Daddy, that would be fab, I have heard so much about your cooking.

I gave Olette a dark look. Call me weird but I don't like being called Daddy by anyone other than my family. Particularly not woodily scented, flowery skirted Doula women.

Aye. We have pork, what about the Pork Bang Bang?

Olette looked intrigued or constipated.

Oh, what's that?

It's a spicy cumin based pork curry and it can be ready in fifteen minutes.

She smiled at my answer as if privy to ancient secrets of the universe.

Sounds Malaysian?

She said with a witchy upturn to the side of her mouth.

The hangover waves pounded harshly on the parched beach of my soul.

Yeah, kind of.

I remarked with a debonair shrug of a handsome shoulder.

I heaved myself to my feet and fought the rolling nausea that boomed down on to me. The room swayed and rocked as if we were at sea.

Doesn't that make you guilty of cultural appropriation then?

Asked Olette with a face of deep serious.

I let out a sigh. It was a majestic sigh. Like the wind rustling through Autumn trees warning of the winter to come.

I shook my head and headed into the kitchen, pausing only momentarily to comment over my shoulder.

Only if I was an utter dick.

Bloody Doulas.