Knocked out by Chicken Tonight

Friday, March 13 ‘09

Mrs Bennet rubbed her head. It hurt and had a funny spongy feel when she pressed it. The Chicken Tonight had done a good job and had almost knocked her out. She was only looking in the cupboard to see what she could cook for the Bennet’s nightly nosh and promptly got attacked by a bottle of Soya sauce. In ducking her head, while her hand skilfully caught the falling bottle, a jar of Chicken Tonight creamy mushroom sauce had walloped her where the Soya sauce had missed and stunned her momentarily. Half an hour later she was at the school gate, with chirping twins, still feeling out of it. Mind you it was a feeling she felt regularly these days.
Before marriage and babies, Mrs Bennet had been a morning bird. Up at six and in bed by 10pm on the nights she wasn’t working. Nowadays, she was often rudely woken up by a five-year old, demanding where her school tights were, or a Mr Bennet politely informing her he was now leaving the building and perhaps it would be a good idea if she surfaced. It was a miracle how she ever left the building herself and she hoped the teachers didn’t notice that she’d missed brushing one of the Miss Bennet’s hair or that their shoes hadn’t been polished for quite a while now. She was lucky to get to bed before 1am. With five packed lunches to prepare, school books to write in, trip money to find, nappy bags to stock up, toys to put away and her own work deadlines to meet, Mrs Bennet would often find the bath water she ran two hours before, stone cold; but not wanting to waste it, washed herself in it anyway before crawling into bed exhausted.
“You must get to bed earlier. I’m concerned about you,” said her husband on a rare date out at a local restaurant. Going to bed earlier was not a passionate invitation by the way.
“You’re always on the computer working when you get a spare moment. You never watch the television or sit down and read the paper! If you went to bed earlier, you’d get up a lot fresher,” he declared.
And of course he was quite right, but she was in a Catch 22 situation. It was a chicken (tonight) and egg case. It didn’t help that she disliked living in her house right now. Six months on – although the extension was built, it wasn’t in a liveable state and the Bennet septuplets, cooped up in the living room womb desperately wanted to be born into a bigger world. For the past two weeks a strange and eerie silence had enveloped the bite-size Pemberley. As the mortgage hadn’t yet been cleared, the money wasn’t available to finish what could be finished and as the Darcys in the Dirt were going through what could only be described as a “family crisis,” the work had quite suddenly come to a halt. One of the Darcys had in fact run away and if the truth be known, Mrs Bennet was rather concerned about him, as were his colleagues. But at risk of upsetting them, she pledged not to elaborate any further.
But today with her Chicken Tonight egg head pounding like a chick desperate to break through its shell, Mrs Bennet faced a sudden surge of activity. The sub-contractor Darcys were back. This time to drill holes in the lounge and ceiling to sort out the electrics. Dishy and charming as they were, Mrs Bennet couldn’t handle any more disruption. She knew she had no choice, but she also had nowhere to go. The little Miss Twin Bennets – who she now affectionately called Spag and Bol – were giggling loudly cot to cot, showing how much they intended to have their lunchtime nap. Mrs Bennet walked in as they shouted in unison: “Mummy!” The whiff of dirty nappy gave her the information she needed. Spag – the older twin was not going to settle until she was cleaned up.
Mrs Bennet knew the power was about to be turned off, so got to work before she couldn’t see what she was doing. A knock at the door, followed by a
“There’s a man here to pick up the scaffolding!” made her work extra fast. Putting Spag back in her cot, she ran down the stairs with her smelly present in hand.
It was times like this she felt like swearing. But as she didn’t know any appropriate words, she muttered “Sugar!” and went outside to sort out Mr Scaffolding.
Jannie, Mrs Bennet’s mum was clutching a mug of Mr Peely Wally (hot water) and watching the circus of activity move around her.
“Why don’t you go off for a break,” she urged Mrs Bennet, convinced her mother was an angel in disguise.
Glad of the invitation. Mrs Bennet handed in her RSVP and ran out the door. Her Chicken Tonight egg head finally hatched, relieving the pressure on her brain. Perhaps she would think straight again.
“I may not come back!” she shouted as she tripped over her feet and landed on her face. Perhaps the Chicken Tonight had done more damage than she had feared. She vowed to take revenge and watch it bubble away in the oven when she got back.