Beware, oh men, beware. Be careful. If your scratchety, naggy, vexy wife or gyal-friend offer to do something for you, take that offer with a pinch o’ salt…cooking salt, that is. Absolutely no other kind.
Yesterday I been checking out the many uses of epson salts. “Look,” I show my mother, “It can draw toxins from you body…it make with magnesium sulfate …”
“Oh me mooma! You got to be careful. Ya make you sweat lakka cow!” It make you sweat like a cow!
“Mr. Johnston tell me he nearly dead one time,” she continue with Bollywood-size drama in she voice.
“He was a electrician…he used to do work for we in the seventies, eighties…”
He was 50-something, married to a middle-aged woman. The two o’ them never live good; they always fighting. My parents never meet the wife, but according to he, Mr. Johnston, she was a strict, uncompromising woman. According to my mother, Mr. Johnston heself was a black-and-white man, dogmatic and proper.
My mother, chatting with he, years ago, ask he how he is doing, how is the wife and so on.
“She is a terrible woman,” he state.
One day, he and the wife had a fight. Words slicing the air, carving left and right. Finally, they lay down they words like swordsmen downing weapons, carefully. Silence settle over them.
The wife full up the bathtub for he. Mr. Johnston sink into the water, aahhh…so relaxing. He come out from the bath, he feeling nice.
Then he start to sweat. He pour with sweat, he sweat like a cow, he sweat so much, he get nearly dehydrated, he had to rush to the doctor.
“That terrible woman,” Mr. Johnston tell my mother, “she overdosed my bath with epson salts, the doctor said. She almost killed me.”
“Where is Mr. Johnston now?” I ask my mother.
“He die some years ago. He woulda been 80-something now.”