“What the fuck?” he shouted a little too loudly.
“I’m sorry,” she said, barely audibly.
“What is that?”
“Your shirt.”
“Which shirt?”
“Your favourite shirt.”
“And what’s wrong with it?”
“I’m sorry.”
He raised his voice again. “And what’s wrong with it?” he shouted.
“I’m sorry!” she said, and she threw the shirt at him before she knew what she’d done. It hit him and he let it fall to the floor, then he took one step forwards and punched her in the left side of her face with enough force to knock her on to the floor. He tutted as she fell down, sure that she was exaggerating for effect.
“Get up,” he said to her, and he left the room, grabbed his coat and walked out of the house.
Minutes later he was in The Lion, and the barman was uttering the most comforting words he’d ever heard. “Usual, mate?”
“Yeah,” he said, and the barman nodded and pointed him to a table. He sat down at the table in the corner and sighed. The barman put a coaster down and put a pint on top of it before sitting down opposite him. He watched as he picked up the drink and downed half of it in one go before sighing again.
“Everything alright, Mick?” he said eventually.
“Aye,” said Mick. “Well, you know, women,” with a roll of his eyes.
“What’s she done this time?”
“Oh nothing, it’s not important, she just fucked up me favourite shirt is all.”
“Ouch.”
“Aye, never mind, I can get another one.”
“Right enough,” said the barman, and he waited for a second for Mick to speak.
“Another drink, I mean, get us another one.”
“Oh, right,” said the barman, standing up. “Right. Right enough.” He went over to the bar and got Mick another drink while Mick sat at the table with his head in his hands. The barman came back with Mick’s drink and put it down on a second coaster. Mick began speaking before the barman had even sat back down.
“What am I meant to do?” he asked.
“Well, you could go and grab another shirt the same, I suppose.”
“I mean about her.”
“That’s what I meant, I mean, you can go and get her to get a shirt for you. One that’s the same, like.”
Mick looked at the barman and squinted. “I mean she’s always doing stuff like this. I don’t know how much longer I’m meant to put up with it, you know?”
“Oh right, right, yeah, totally. Plenty more fish in the sea though, aye?”
“Aye, you’re right. Get us another one, I’d best get back and make sure she hasn’t burned the place down.” Both men stood and walked to the bar, and Mick downed his third pint in one go, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and gave a thumbs up and a nod to the barman before leaving.
He walked home but still was plagued by the same question. What was he going to do about her?
