“It’s the natural order of things, Alf. Women on top,” Bert said.
“S’what I told the missus,” Alf agreed. “I told her you said so, too.”
“So what’s the problem, then? Why so glum?” Bert asked.
Alf was sporting a bandage around his forehead and a nasty looking blue eye.
“The missus didn’t agree, she said it were the man who’re supposed to be on top.”
“But didn’t you tell her that if she was on top she’d be in control?”
“Yeah. I told her,” Alf said.
“And you mentioned it would mean you would have your hands free . . . for other stuff!” Bert said, winking.
“Oh, I told her, all right,” Alf said.
“And she didn’t seem even the least bit interested? Not for a moment?”
“Nope. Not at all,” Alf said shaking his head. “But she ended up on top though. I made her.”
“Ooh, made her. That could have been handled more diplomatically,” Bert said sounding concerned.
“Well, it’s a bit bloody late now, isn’t it? I mean, look at me!” Alf moaned.
“Yes, I was wondering what happened, but didn’t feel it my place to enquire after matters conjugal,” Bert sad.
“Conjugal? What the hell’s that when it’s home?” Alf said, looking perplexed. “This happened while the missus was on top of the ladder washing the windows. I pointed out a spot she’d missed. She bloody swore at me and while she was stretching she dropped the flaming bucket right on my bloody head! Next time I’ll clean the perishin’ windows me self and I’ll thank you, Bert to keep your expert opinions to yourself. And it’s your bloody round!”