Vengeance

Nothing happened today. Nothing AT ALL. Nothing to do with ME.

For the triplets - and I use that word knowingly, because today Shark, Squirrel and Tiger are truly one being - it has been a day of inflamed passions, emotional over-reaction, and the type of outrage that ends in nuclear war.

Pressing the red button marked EXPLODE takes place one nanosecond after an insult is detected on the insult scanning device, stored somewhere under common sense and reason behind the back of a triplet brain.

Insults like, 'I want pasta for tea'.

This insult, delivered by Tiger in the kitchen and picked up by the scanning device stored in the Shark brain in the front room, is clearly a personal affront to all non-pasta eaters.

Don't say Shark liked pasta today and will like pasta tomorrow, for today she is allied with the Outraged Union of Non-pasta Eaters who have suffered this abuse LONG ENOUGH.

Tiger must be stopped. She is attempting a coup. She is trying to control all tea-times. She is seeking to remove any other sister's better right to eat tea at tea-time, especially any sister who doesn't want to eat pasta. And this merely proves Tiger's long sustained, vindictive campaign; to judge herself better than anyone else; to deny the righteousness of non-pasta eaters; to declare all non-pasta eaters upon the earth as rats and garbage; to punish all non-pasta eaters to an eternity of tea-times with pasta shaped like tubes. Tiger is the PASTA HITLER.

Now Tiger has revealed her plan all along! She is malice aforethought. She has been doing this kind of thing FOREVER and certainly before she was born.

The punishment for that is to be chased round the house by Shark threatening to pull your face off.

Dear reader, just replay that scene of insult, wounded pride, outrage, injustice, and vengeance, in all triplet dimensions. Shark-Tiger; Tiger-Shark; Squirrel-Tiger, Tiger-Squirrel; Squirrel-Shark...

It takes quite some hours, doesn't it? Which might explain why - after four hours with her life reduced to acts of retribution over wrong doings connected with pasta, dress buttons, that book left on the sofa last Thursday, who had the computer longest - mummy Grit ignites, hurls across the kitchen table a packet of frozen bread rolls garnished with a blasphemy, and stomps out of the house wearing the same hat everyone else seems to be wearing today: the hat of inflamed righteous indignation.

So, Triplets. Three parts of the same outraged being. Three parts of the same mind alive to all the injustices of dress buttons and pasta tubes.

If today is a food to be served up at teatime on Judgment Day, then these brief daylight hours deserve to be a bowl of cold porridge that Doreen, the right-handed dinner lady of wasted time, discovers under the kitchen sink of pointlessness.

The same bowl will have lodged there fifteen years, catching the grease drips from the defective u-bend of misery. It will have caught the drips from the upturned bottle of harboured grudges, be coated with the bitter crystals from the bar of insult, be bubbling with the hidden gas of resentful anger. It should now be served up, garnished with Lux soap flakes and a mouse corpse.

This is my vengeance. You get pasta.