“Short? Waddya mean I’m short? I’m as tall as you are, cheeky mare …”
The cashier, unable to interrupt Mick, flushed bright pink: “Sir, I’m sorry, I simply meant that your payments don’t add up. There isn’t sufficient coinage to add up to your total.” “Oh, I see. Sorry love. Waddya need?” It took a bit of rummaging round in pockets for Mick to find sufficient of the right coins to balance the paying-in book before he could race back to his car. As he hurried, he could see a traffic warden taking a picture, having just stuck a ticket on his car. “Naw mate, naw. I was only over the time by a minute. If that dopey mare at my office ‘ad cashed up proper, I’d have bin ‘n gawn by now.”
Unsurprisingly, the warden wasn’t listening and Mick ended up snatching the ticket from his windscreen before pulling away with tyres squealing. He punched a number into his phone and shouted “tell that stupid tart Mary she’s just cost me a parking ticket … ‘n she’ll be payin’ it from outta her wages.” Before the startled receptionist could respond, he hung up.
Arriving at his next call, Mick was more than a touch agitated, although he’d never have believed it if you’d suggested so. “Mornin’ love, ‘ere to take a butchers at this kitchen you want refurbed!” he announced in what was clearly an overly familiar tone to the lady of the house. Twenty minutes later, Mick was leaving the house, already on the phone giving hell to his salesman for sending him to someone who was “a right stuck up cow.” “Was she actually rude then?” asked Bob in a surprised tone. “Naw mate, just dead short.” Bob swallowed a snigger “must’ve been something she had for breakfast mate, she was really polite – charming even – with me.”
The day didn’t improve, and nor did Mick’s mood. Calling it a day at quarter to five, he jumped in the shower, changed and decided to pop into his local for a quick one before tonight’s date. He thought he had a really good chance with this one. She was just his type – blonde, bubbly and flirty – with no airs and graces. He chatted with a few of the lads at his local before leaving for the wine bar she’d chosen for the meet.
He was a little late and was about to phone, when he spotted her. There was some bloke chatting to her, which he was a bit narked about to be honest. Going over, he went straight in for a kiss: “looking gorgeous darlin’, what you drinkin’?” Mick saw her visibly recoil before saying to the other bloke: “can you give me a minute Chaz?” Puffing up his chest, Mick asked “’ho’s this Chaz bloke, a mate of yours?” “No” she replied, rather coolly “we was just chatting. In fact, he’d just asked me how come I’d been left waiting on a first date.” “Sorry Babe, I ‘ad to pull over and take a call from a client. It’s been a mare of a day and …” Mick spotted her not even attempting to stifle a yawn. “Whassup with you anyways?” She sighed: “Well, apart from being late, you lied. I mean, if you’re 5’ 10”, I’m ruddy Sofia Loren.” “Wot? Wot you sayin’?” “I’m saying that you’re short mate. Get it? Too … short.” and with that she stalked away to join Chaz.
Mick stormed back to his local and complained about all these women who would only consider dating 6 footers. “Hang on a minute Mick, how tall did you say you were?” one of the regulars chimed in. “Only 5’ 10” … I weren’t pretending to be 6’ or nuffing.” Once the lads had stopped laughing, one of them managed to get out: “Mick, you barely make 5’7”! Maybe it wasn’t the lack of height so much as the fact that you were telling an outright lie.” “She said it, she said I was too short!” Mick was almost shouting now, so that same guy put a pint in front of him before saying: “Too short of the truth eh, maybe mate?”
© Debra Carey, 2017