Doug had a problem that was about to cost him his marriage, and worse, his convenience. He sat in the pub, all alone, chewing his teeth, and ruing a culture that gave precedence to monogamy.

In just one hour, his mistress was going to show up at his family home and blow his secret. He took no pride in being a cheater, and he saw no shame in it either. It was simply what he did. Who was he to judge himself? And who was he to be judged? Well, he was Doug, and now his future satisfaction was hanging by a thread.

All he ever wanted was an easy life. To not be bothered, except when he chose to be.

If only he’d listened to his mother who, in her aged wisdom, would often say; “You can’t hide disaster behind the feathers of a horse because sooner or later your tomfoolery will make a donkey out of you before you make a donkey out of the Lord. Don’t ever forget that. You are my fifth-born after all and I think you should know this.” It was hard to argue with such pearls of wisdom, and now he was about to pay for ignoring his elders.

He shuffled his way to the bar.

“One ale and a giant slab of lamb,” he muttered.

The barman nodded. Doug shuffled back to his seat.

Did he need a family, he wondered. Would it be so bad to alienate those who relied on him for water and bread? After all, what was the nuclear family other than a socially-endorsed system of parasitic exploitation? He was a ‘nineteenth-century man’. He still believed in the plough and he still believed in capital punishment. He still trusted horses more than cars, and he owned multiple hats that all looked identical.

The ale arrived, followed by the lamb. It was so bloody that it may have still been bleeding to death on the plate; just as he liked it. He picked up his fork and gripped his knife, but the sound of raised voices emerged outside. Then they got louder. And louder again. Commotion was coming and he was the centre of gravity.

The door to the pub swung open with a clatter. It was his wife, and next to her, his mistress. They were both redder in the face than his slab of meat. And in their hands? Machetes.

He sighed. It was a pain. He was really looking forward to digging into the lamb. Now, he’d have to do crowd control, and that was no way to spend a Monday morning.