She was heading for the school and as she locked the door to her home, she noticed the lunchbox on the railing. It belonged to Mr A.
The hardest part of life as a brain researcher was no doubt to remember the lunchbox. Dead serious Mr A would make himself a couple of sandwiches every morning. Dead serious he would put them neatly in a box. Satisfied, he would then make a positive statement about his life. He would glance at his watch and exclaim «I am late!», get his outerwear on, grab the box and dash out.
Then the crucial moment came: He would lay the lunchbox on the railing outdoors while searching for the keys in his pockets – and after locking the door he would exclaim «I am late!» again and run off leaving his lunch behind him. Mr A was always very hungry when he came home in the evening.
She was used to it all after years of forgetting; by now it was seventeen years since a slightly younger-looking Mr A in the sweetest of moments had taken her hand in a solemn way and exclaimed «I sort of like what’s buzzing in your head.» Mrs A couldn’t hold her tears back. It was a formidable compliment coming from a brain researcher and all.
They got engaged and Mr A remembered to show up at the wedding. They got two kids and it turned out quite well.
This morning she had read an article in the newspaper: Some women had claimed they were sick of civilization as known today, and had decided they wouldn’t buy anything for themselves for a whole year. Everything except food would have to be either made by hand or obtained by trading goods for goods. «I knew something was wrong» the initiator said, «when I discovered 80 pairs of unused underpants in my drawers».
80 pairs of underpants. Unused. That wasn’t just wrong, that was obscene! Mrs A felt like a complete social success when she had two or three pairs of clean, acceptable underwear on hand. That woman had an underpants superstore in her wardrobe and she even told it to the newspaper.
She went through her own drawers to see what she had in stock. In the way of underpants there was little to brag about, as expected, and her pantyhose collection was terrible. Only one pair without holes! That was the horrific Halloween Glow-in-the-Dark Pantyhose with luminescent sculls over the whole of it. She threw all the wornout stuff in a trash bag, leaving some underwear and the Halloween thing that could be used next year.
It was only the 6th of December, but already time for the first Christmas Workshop at school. For a whole day the kids would get themselves and their clothes soaked in glue and rolled in glitter powder while making Christmas decorations under the supervision of a handful of teachers and volunteer parents.
Most parents found a nostalgic pleasure in such things, but there were usually not that many volunteers for Glue and Glitter Day.
When she arrived at the school, Mrs A was therefore highly surprised that this year just about all the moms had turned up. The classroom thronged with them. How come? It was strange. Even Mrs State Prosecutor had taken a day off from court, and that was rare with her work load and all.
The reason for it all soon became clear – it was Mr Lekker, the new headmaster. He had made his first appearance on Election Night and those present had been under his spell ever since. Those who hadn’t been there had heard so many rumours that they were just dy-y-y-ing to see him, dying to succumb to what had been described as his deadly animal charm.
And here he was in the classroom, dressed for fun as Santa Claus, but fortunately without the otherwise obligatory white beard.
Mr Lekker, tall and slender, in his forties, had the most exquisite hair imaginable. Copper coloured and thick, it curled up so beautifully on his world-class neck, providing a backdrop to a serene face with aristocratic features and eyes the colour of nuts, but the shape of almonds. His nose had a slight bow to it in perfect contrast with his somewhat square chin. Mrs State Prosecutor told a funny story from court in order to see if Mr Lekker was in possession of dimples. It turned out that he not only was, but they were also the most terrific pair of dimples ever seen both North of the South Pole and South of the North Pole. A simultaneous, common sigh escaped the moms.
Mrs Lookalike, who was always in the frontline when it came to local news, whispered to those interested (basically everybody) that Mr Lekker was a man of the woods – he had cleared a building lot himself in the forest and carried whole tree trunks on his beautiful, manly back before constructing a cozy log cabin by hand. And so it was no surprise that Mr Lekker was a very strong and fit man in the good old-fashioned sense, with long, lean-muscled limbs adorned with prominent veins. No protein shakes, no diets, no nothing. His shoulders were wide, his hips narrow – and when he sat down his knees were sort of square-looking in the most beautiful way and the curved inside of his thighs seemed so heavy even through the Santa Claus costume. A man he was and his tan came from rugged outdoor life.
It was frankly hard to get any genuine and honest gluing and glittering done with Mr Lekker around, and when he finally left Mrs Catchit was shaking so much she could hardly stand on her feet. The volunteer moms had to get both her and themselves a coffee and some gingerbread men; then everybody sat down for a couple of minutes. The atmosphere was tense. When Mrs Culprit blurted out that she was considering rereading the amazing literary works of D.H. Lawrence – at least the highlights – the women looked away and didn’t want to discuss it.
In a silence so thick and palpable that they could have hung it on a Christmas tree, they pondered the situation. Mr Lekker had gone to his kid’s classroom. He was a father.
Mr Lekker was a father.
Mrs Lookalike was happy to tell about having seen him at the local mall the other day with his kid – and they had this incredibly sweet dad-child thing going – Mr Lekker was a natural, that much was clear. His kid had the best of dads.
But what about the mom? Technically speaking, there must be a mom. But what about in practice? Even Mrs Lookalike didn’t know anything about it. At least not yet.
Was there a Mrs Lekker?
Now, what do you think? Is Mr Lekker married? Newly divorced? Leave a comment underneath – the more feedback from the readers, the funnier the story will be. (I hope you find the story funny:))