A two cat paradox

"There are very few things you can guarantee in life; Death, taxes, Christmas comes once a year, women lying about their age and being able to tell the wife of an angler."

"Wait, what? I'm sorry. How do you tell the wife of an angler?" 

"Oh you know; two cats at home, a bedside top drawer full of batteries and in the bottom drawer hidden in a sock at the back a big fuck off vibrator!"

"That's just…" Her sentence tails off as she stops to weigh up what's been said and whether there might be more than an element of truth to it. Rather than admit it actually sounded highly plausible as a theory and an answer to the loneliness caused by being deserted for a fish she desperately tries to shift the conversation onto something else. 

"How's your mum?"

"Gone to the shop to buy some batteries and before you ask yes Dad's gone fishing and the cats are doing fine."

She stops to call him a "Dickhead," before roaring with laughter and slapping him hard on the arm for good measure. 

"Owww what was that for?" He asks, fixing her with a stare and rubbing the spot where the blow had landed. 

"Clue was in me calling you a dickhead, dickhead."

"Well next time make it a little more subtle with the follow through and I might not have to ask you."

"I'm not apologising," she tells him and raises her shoulders, tilting her head to one side. 

"Rude!"

"Not rude, just no point in lying to you."

He moved his head from side to side as if it's a set of weighing scales ready to fall one side at any moment with an answer. He throws his hands out in front of him palm side up as if to ask 'what can you say to that?' Clearly nothing as that's exactly what he says. 

"How about we play a game?"

"Does it involve you calling me a dickhead and slapping me?"

"Would you like that?"

"I'd rather you spanked my arse and called me Charlie."

"Why do you always say that?"

"Dunno think it was on a TV programme I saw once or maybe on a film and sporadically it pops into my head as the default answer to people asking me stupid questions."

"How is me asking if you want to play a game a stupid question?"

"Not sure my brain is too busy overloaded with pain receptors having a full workout after your unprovoked attack a minute ago. Did no one ever tell you that men can't multitask?"

She chuckles to herself. "You're pretty funny for a dickhead, do you know that?"

"Is that one of those rhetamalogical type question thingamebobs?" 

"Yes. Yes exactly that type."

"Oh good I'll not answer it then. What's your game?"

"Guess the profession."

"What the fuck is guess the profession? You know normal people would have said something like eye spy or…" Now it was his turn to tail off the sentence and start to think. What else was there? 

"...or It." 

"It?"

"Yeah you know … it." He jabs her arm with an extending finger. "You're it! Jesus what fucking school did you go to?"

"Same one as you knob head."

"Oh yeah so you did. You're quite funny as well by the way," and now he finds himself chuckling away though he might equally be laughing at himself which he's spent a lifetime perfecting the art of. "So how do you play this game of yours?"

Before she answers she pokes him in the arm, shuffles to the far end of the park bench perched ready to run if need be and says "You're it!"

"Fucking hell and they say all men are children. Grow up!"

She sits in growing anticipation waiting for any slight change in body position. 

"Sit down properly, you're making the park look untidy. I'll have to tell people walking past that it's OK I'm your carer and I'm taking you out for a supervised visit. Dickhead."

"Oi why are you calling me a dickhead?"

"I wasn't. I knew that's what you'd call me so I saved you the hassle and effort."

"Dickhead."

"Now who's the dickhead I just told you I'd saved you the bother?! And don't roll your eyes at me like that."

"Hang on, how did you know I rolled my eyes when you were looking straight ahead?"

"Cause you're predictable. You're like a book for 2 year olds learning to read with one word printed on a page at a time." He opens an imaginary book on his lap. "The … cat…sat… I wonder what's coming next… can you guess… on … didn't see that plot twist… the …"

"Twat!" 

"Fucking hell no wonder you've not got kids yet. Potty mouthed little bastards they'd be by the time they got to little people school." 

"Aye you've probably got a point. Right, stop changing the subject you sarcastic numpty. Play this game with me."

"I'd have played it with you ten minutes ago if you'd told me the sodding rules."

"We've only been sat here for five minutes."

"Three more like."

"How have you gone from ten to three in two five seconds?"

"How is a woman never a minute when she says she'll only be a minute?"

There was a long silence. 

"Fucking hell that's two good points you've made today. Have I fallen into a parallel universe where you've figured out women?" 

"What's that big collider thing in Switzerland where they smash particles together to figure out stuff?"

"The erm… what's is called?" She clicks her fingers repeatedly as if it's going to magic the answer. "The… Hadron collider in…" clicks her fingers again "Cern! God particle!" 

He looks down at his fingers and clicks them, then puts them next to his right ear and does it again. "Wish I'd kept my receipt for mine. They seem to be broken." 

"Hah hah, very funny. Why did you want to know that anyway?"

"Oh cause it'd be easier to figure out the meaning of life than it would to figure out women and before you say you 'cheeky bastard' you know I'm right so don't argue the point."

She sighs in defeat. 

"Right, how do we play this sodding game? It better be good after all this!"

"Right, someone walks towards us and we have to guess what they do for a living."

"Ya what? Is that it?"

"Yeah."

"Sounds a fucking shit game to me. The only people you'll see walking through the park at this time of day are; old retired people, jobless people, students late for school and postmen."

"Oh. Yeah hadn't thought of that," and her shoulders drop as if she's deflating on the spot. 

"How about we change it up and try to work out what we think their lives are like?" Magically like her fingers clicking this seems to inflate her with air and she's back fully upright again. 

"Cool!" She says maybe a little too over enthusiastically. 

A full two minutes go by and no one has walked last. Five minutes pass and still no one as they sit in silence looking everywhere around them for any signs of life. Finally a woman enters the park from the far gates dressed head to toe in a pink tracksuit, with her long blonde hair trestles flowing down and spilling over her shoulders. 

"Ready?"

"Ready!"

"How do we actually play this?"

"Oh yeah good point. Erm?"

"Fuck me. That Richard tall bloke fella who invents TV quiz shows. He's not going to be shitting himself worrying you're going to take his job anytime soon is he!"

"Alright shut up let me think… where do you think she's going?"

"What dressed in a pink tracksuit, trainers on, mid morning. Where do I think she's going? Where do you think she's going?"

"Oh erm… to the gym!" She shouts out rather too excitedly like this is a real TV quiz show and she's the contestant about to win a family holiday to Tenerife. 

"No you twat. She's off to Greggs. Fucking size of that fat arse she's never been anywhere near a gym!" And with that he lunges sideways, pokes her in the arm, shouts "IT!" and runs fast as he can in a forward direction making the pink tracksuit lady look their way. It doesn't seem to have inspired her to start exercising he thinks to himself as he continues running, giggling away like a schoolboy as he casts quick looks over his shoulders to see if he's still being chased… which of course he is. He makes a quick mental note if he's caught to tag the pink tracksuit lady and go 'it!' She definitely needs the exercise and to be fair she's at least dressed for it.