A Five Letter Word

The gray-haired man sat on his recliner, a folded newspaper in his lap, a slight frown upon his weather-beaten wrinkled face. The metal-rimmed glasses rested upon his large nose, the face ruddy from a daily overconsumption of beer. His right hand held an oversized pencil, the normal-sized ones too painful to hold due to chronic arthritis.

“What’s a five-letter word for pandemonium?” he asked out loud.

The woman he called upon was his wife of some forty years. Dressed plainly, she was standing in the nearby kitchen, wearing an apron, and cleaning vegetables for a pot of soup. As with many couples who had been married for multiple decades, her mild contempt for her husband was quelled by years of training, and the occasional backhand to the face.

“Mayhem,” was her reply, not looking up.

There was a pause of silence, then “That’s six letters, woman. Are you daft?”

The woman smiled inwardly at another of life’s little victories as she skinned some carrots, then cut them into small pieces. A few moments passed and then there was the unmistakable rumble of her husband’s flatulence. She wondered if she could get out of the game today.

“Woman? Get in here,” and the sounds of some choking followed.

“I’m washing and cutting vegetables for your soup, dear,” she said, hoping that would exempt her. It didn’t.

“Now woman. Don’t make me say it twice. You know how I hate to say things twice.”

She sighed quietly and looked down at the paring knife, small but sharp as she turned it left and then right, then put it down. Wiping her hands on her skirt, she walked the short distance from the small kitchen into the room occupied by her old man, whom she knew would have that same, simple-minded smile upon his face that he always did when he’d farted.

“Take a deep whiff, and then give it a score.” He almost giggled with delight. It was a game he invoked when he farted in the house and she was around.

“Oh, I’d give it a nine-point--” but he cut her off.

“NO!” His facial expression had turned cross, his voice louder and sharp. A warning sign, she noted. “Take a deeeeeeeeeeeep breath.”

She knew what he wanted. Gritting her teeth, she inhaled and caught the scent of his ass, her face grimacing in disgust. She heard him chuckle and knew he was waiting for her.

“Nine ... point ... eight,” she said, followed by “oh God,” and she rushed out of the room, holding her hand over her mouth. His laughter followed.

In the kitchen once again, she relaxed. She’d lost most sense of smell during her change of life cycle, but she played the game to keep him from getting angry with her.