Suspect BS (EV 10)

I had just returned to the UK after the horror one calls ‘marriage’ and started work immediately, as the holidays were used up pleasing the in laws. The Ogre was upset because he did not have permission to work in the country yet and felt emasculated by watching me go to work.

My brother thought it would be an effective bonding strategy to invite the Ogre out. I was delighted as I thought it would stop the insufferable moaning and self-pity and begin his journey into settling into the country, make new friends and, put simply, get him out of the flat.

I was full of gratitude and joy, especially as I knew my brother (or anyone else for that matter) did not like the Ogre very much. I must confess, at the risk of sounding like Curley’s Wife, I did not like him very much either.

Anyway, I had a lovely evening, coming back from work to an empty, non-toxic flat, not having to walk on eggshells, having some time to play with my metaphorical, non-existent balls – as one does.

The Ogre came home, quite subdued. I asked how his day was, hopefully and optimistically. Did you get something to eat? Was it fun? You know, the wifely questions. He said, “I don’t think you know your brother very well.”

“Why do you say that?” I enquired.

“He took me to an underground brothel,” he replied to my utter horror and amazement. “I refused to go in. He seemed surprised.”

When I asked my brother about this, he simply pissed himself laughing, and said, “He was so weird. He didn’t go in.”