Mrs Monk and Darth Vadar
21 September 2008
We made our way home from a Sunday morning dynamic social tennis.
We were exhausted and hyped by fresh endorphins, but as we turned into the street where we reside, we were surprised and confronted by a motorcyclist who came up alongside us and impeded our path as we attempted to park the car.
We waited patiently as a leather clad small man came upon us, or more specifically Mrs Monk, seeming to seek confrontation. He was at Mrs Monk’s passenger window and was gesticulating furiously. Since he was clearly motivated by anger, and I had no idea what he was agitated about, I lowered the window on Mrs Monk’s side of the car to hear what he had to say. He let loose with a torrent of four letter abuse and fist waving directed at Mrs Monk. Why was he doing this? His foul mouth was disguised by an oversized crash helmet.
I wanted to know what he was saying, but his incoherent rant made little sense and only his four letter words directed at Mrs Monk had any degree of clarity. Had she once taught him English?. I told him to watch his mouth, but he retorted with, “Fuck off,” directed at me.
He had gone to far, so at this point I unbuckled my seat belt and went for the door. Simultaneously Mrs Monk grabbed my left arm with both hands and grappled with me to prevent me from getting out of the car to deal with the minuscule Darth Vadar.
And then he was gone.
In fact, subsequent sober analysis of the event, has determined that the star warrior took offence at Mrs Monk’s finger-pointing at a road junction where, according to Mrs Monk, he was driving too fast. I was there and have no recollection of the event. They are both mad, but I can only confidently identify one of the two protagonists in this melodrama.