After all, the battery of our love has run out.
... No, it didn't run out of juice, obviously (to verify the quality of the batteries, I got a quite satisfactory oral guarantee from the smirking "shop assistant" in response to my "And they — heh! — won't need to be flattened with a hammer to work, will they?": "Flatten" — your girlfriend will be! And in a way no hammer ever could!"), and not in the sense of "I'm bored, demon!..." (how could anyone get bored here?!), — it's just that the words of the "ladybug's" retro-hit were spinning in my head all "todaynik" (that's what I call "breakfast"):
Everything seems, like always:
The same cups and spoons,
The same water in the tap,
The same chair
without a leg...And only one laughs
She — fate, the villain:
Because our love's
Ba-tte-ry ran down!..
O-ho-o, ia-a-io-o!... Battery!..
O-ho-o, ia-a-io-o!... Battery!..
Cups and spoons were naturally present (how could our "Swedish family" of such "caffeine addicts" do without them!...); though, instead of "water in the tap" — the dispenser with ready boiling water was bubbling and gurgling, and the chairs — all had their legs intact. Otherwise — "everything seems, like always." If, of course, you didn't know about the "O-ho-o, ia-a-io-o!...", confirming the truthfulness of the cynical salesman's words. Confirming it one hundred percent!..
... The "girlfriend" — was being "flattened"! To such an extent that, about to take a sip of coffee, she would suddenly fall into deep thought, as if pondering whether to finally bring the "Bernadotte cup" to her bitten lips or return it to the saucer. She would blush, then turn pale, like a "dark-skinned Moldovan girl", then gulp with her throat, — exactly like Jerry, cornered by Tom looming over him, then as if listening intently to something...
The comedy continued until "Woody Woodpecker" forced the "comedienne" to suddenly jump up from the table (almost knocking over all the cups and spoons, and nearly depriving the chair of a leg) and, muttering something about "pressure" and "I'll go lie down," quite strangely, after such a sharp rise, holding onto the wall, float out of the kitchen...
— What's with her?... — Wondered the only one not clued in (pun intended!) to the "big secret for a small, for a very small company."
— Maybe it's a "Red day of the calendar"?... — I ventured to suggest. — Or... um... "Grandpa Klim" has come... — "Got embarrassed," "joking clumsily."
— Right! Women's business! — The hapless diagnostician was delighted with the proposed version. — And about menopause — you're wrong! — He chided. — Menopause is still — as far away as hitchhiking to the tundra!... Our "Kashyovaya" — is top-notch!..
"... Top-notch there, or top-notch here!", — I mentally finished. Out loud — I agreed with the "cuckold" (from the French "cocu"), quoting comrade Sukhov: "That's for sure!..."
... And, leaving the "Wimbledon" — the parent to finish breakfast, and humming — now from "Electronik" — about the monkey with a "spring" inside it causing antics: "In the whole world, I'm the only one-a-a — such a wind-up-a-able one!...", — I shuffled off (before it "runs out"!...) to turn off with the mini-remote the vibrator in mother's pussy...
NOTA BENE! To avoid unpredictable consequences, it is not recommended to repeat the above on mothers who have not passed the yokasting!