The boxing Bennets

Wednesday, July 15 2010

Her head throbbed and her thumb hurt. Mrs. Bennet sat in a crumpled heap in the playroom floor surrounded by playdough tools, hardened lumps, tiny sunglasses with bent arms, princess shoes missing their precious jewels and shape sorters stuffed with everything(breakfast toast remains included) but the rightful triangular, circular and square residents. Towering above her in a mocking fashion as it gently wobbled from side to side was the latest acquisition to the Bennet household - a punchbag and its boxing glove companions. The younger twin, Miss Kezia Spiers called it a hot air balloon. Mrs. Bennet decided this was an excellent name for it. The whole idea of buying this strange toy was to get rid of the hot air between two of her offspring. Miss Emily and Miss Megan Bennet were in the midst of a "you're the worst sister ever" season and it was driving Mrs. Bennet mad.
They knew how to wind each other up and purposely pushed the boundaries to get a reaction. Voices would rise, punches would fly and tears would flow - all before breakfast which made passing go almost impossible for the school run. The "go directly to gaol" card was frequently issued by the mother. Not to the offenders. To herself.
Sometimes a night in a cell sounded quite appealing if it avoided waking up to fights. In desperation rather than in wisdom, Mrs. Bennet hunted down the local shops for a punchbag - as you do - so that the argumentative Miss Bennets could lash out at the bag rather than each other. Impressed by this novelty item, they immediately pledged to be friends then promptly argued over who would try it out first. Miss Kezia Bennet enjoyed it the most, hitting her black air balloon proudly with tiny fists and huge grin. But it soon became obvious to Mrs. Bennet who the punchbag was really for - her.
An hour or so later, after yet another bout of Miss Bennet blues and battles, Mrs. Bennet walked out of the house as soon as Mr. Bennet walked in and counted to 100 whilst hitting the steering wheel. Let it be said quickly here that she was not driving - just taking much needed time out in the safety of her four tin walls. She was too frustrated and angry to let herself near the punchbag in case she boxed it off its stand. Ten minutes on she let herself go back in, headed straight for the boxing gloves and jabbed at the bag with all her might. Hot in the face, she finally stopped punching. It was only then, once her passionate display had cooled, that she realised her thumb was really sore.
"You do realise broken thumbs are a common injury for boxers, don't you?!" offered a voice from the adjoining kitchen. No doubt intrigued by his wife's sudden burst of energy and need to improve her upper body muscle-tone, Mr. Bennet had been secretly watching.
Mrs. Bennet felt like punching him, but at risk of making her thumb worse, decided to poke her tongue out at him instead. Once her thumb had recovered its first bout of boxing, she knew Mr. Punchbag would be her new friend. She could punch him as hard as she liked and he would never ever complain.