The Black Widow

I have, unfortunately, had to attend a funeral this week. I'm at the age where I seem to do this more and more. Don't get me wrong, I haven't developed a perverse interest in coffins and crematoriums, I just seem to be losing lots of people I care about, of late.

The funeral I attended today was that of my wife's closest friend's husband. It was a shock to us all when he died, as he seemed to be in perfect health and didn't drink much or smoke. It's strange, isn't it that some people can abuse themselves all their lives, and they live to a ripe old age, while others pop their clogs after catching a cold?

A while ago, while having a quiet lunch in a country pub, a woman walked in with a man. This, of course, is not that unusual. In fact, I would go as far as saying this is a very common thing to happen, not only in this pub, but in buildings here, and all around the world. I did know this woman: she was in my class at school. The man she was with was not, as far as I could remember, her husband, I did once meet him some years ago. And it was clear by the way they were acting with each other that this was more than just a platonic relationship. They giggled and cuddled and kissed all the time. They obviously hadn't been together long, otherwise they would be on the "speak and touch only when necessary" regime.

I turned to my wife, who knew this woman a little better than me, and asked if she had recently got divorced, or had we just caught her having a little extra-marital experience?

It seemed that my knowledge of this woman's remarkable life was somewhat out of date. The husband that I knew seemingly died over twenty years ago! (I must live in some kind of time warp!) He didn't die of some hideous decease, or like my wife's friends husband, of a sudden heart attack. He died while walking home after a night out with friends. They were walking over a bridge one dark and quite windy night, and stopped to try and light up a cigarette, which can be quite difficult when you have a force nine blowing. As he turned from the wind, he was caught unaware by a quick gust, which blew him off the bridge and onto the road below where he was hit by a truck that was passing! Quite a dramatic way to go, I suppose.

“That must have come as a terrible shock to her?” I asked my wife, as she unfolded the story.

“Not as much as a shock when she found her second husband,” she replied.

“How many husbands has this woman had?”

“Four!”

“What happened to the second one?”

“She came home from work one evening to find him in her underwear and hanging in the hallway!”

Now to lose one husband in strange circumstances is a tragedy, to lose two is very strange. I dare not ask what happened to the other two but it didn't matter as my wife was now in full swing and there was no way I could stop her from telling me this woman's tragic life story.

“The third one was even stranger.”

“Never!”

“Yes they were on holiday in I think, Tunisia!”

“Don't tell me it was a plane crash?”

“No stranger than that, they went on a camel ride, as you do when visiting a desert-type country, mainly because there's bugger all else to do. The camel he was on was in heat or something and went crazy trying to mount another camel. It threw him from his saddle or whatever it is you sit on when riding a camel. The camel then trod on his head by accident, killing him out right.

“Have the police never sat her down for a chat?”

“I don't know, but you've got to admit she's had an interesting life.”

You would think the way that this woman goes through the men in her life that she is some sort of femme fatale? But she is very ordinary-looking and quite plump. However, if the way she was fawning up to the man in the pub was anything to go by, she knew how to get her way with men. I would imagine it involved men getting their way with her.

“So what happened to the fourth husband? Was he abducted by aliens?” I asked, thinking the poor sap had probably ended his life with an extra terrestrial probe up is arse. As it turned out, I was nearly right.

“He ran off with the guy who owned the baker's shop up in the village!”

“I guess he had a lucky escape?”

“Not really, he died of a heart attack last year!”

“How do you know all this?”

“Her last husband worked with me for a while and told me everything.”

“Did he tell you why he married her when he knew he was gay?”

“She was fantastic at sex, he said.”

“But he was ga..” I gave up here because it was all getting a little to much for my tiny brain to deal with. I only called in there for steak and chips and a pint, I didn't expect a run down on Mata Hari's life story.

I turned to my wife and said, “Do you not think that our life is really boring?”

“Yours might be, but mine isn't.” 

I don't know what she meant by this? Does she mean that life with me is exciting, or she has some secret agent spy-type existence, that I know nothing about? We paid the bill and started to leave the pub. As we walked out, the man with the black widow started to laugh uncontrollably.

We opened the door to leave his laughing turned into the mother of all coughing fits.

May God have mercy on his soul!

It's good to be boring.