Mr Whipped

A 7:30am alarm sends couples-shivers down Chantelle’s spine. She looks longingly into William’s eyes while running her hand down his chest, “wouldn’t a snuggle and some shopping be better than golf, babe?” He reaches for his phone: “can’t make it guys :(“.

He knows his mates will be pissed off, but he is a Mr Whippy’s soft-servecunt that can’t handle the separation anxiety of being away from his beloved girlfriend for a whopping 4 hours.

William signs onto their joint Facebook page – “William & Chantelle <3”. Hands held, they update their status together – “Going shopping, fresh towels here we come! :P”.

The loved-up pair walks around Garden City and decides that they would both like a skinny soy latte with half a packet of equal. They sit at the cafe and discuss the joint bucks/hens night they are planning.

“This will be so much more meaningful than getting drunk with your yahoo mates and staring at girls, right babe?” William nods and kisses Chantelle on the forehead, “so lucky to have you, babe”.

William spends the remainder of his Sunday morning following his missus around the markets and discussing their “meal plan” for the week.

On the car ride home, William nervously musters up the courage to ask Chantelle for permission to attend his mate’s games night. “Oh, um OK, I thought we were going to catch up on our shows, but fine, do what you want hey”.

Finally, William’s balls come back from their little getaway at lake softcock, and he puts his foot down, “babe, I am going, and that’s final!

He feels a sharp pain in his back – could that be a spine forming? Had he finally evolved from a drifting jelly in the sea of codependence? Was he now some slightly less pathetic organism? He messages his friends, “I’ll be there, hope you’re ready to lose all your money guys ha ha“.

True to his word, William arrives at the games night, albeit 30 minutes late. Although he is playing, he is clearly suffering the effects of emotional frostbite from exposure to the icy-shoulder he received from his scorned lover.

Frankly, it looks like he has seen a ghost, or perhaps he’d seen something more horrifying, like his own self-respect in the mirror.

During the game, he seems vexed and disappears to make a phone call. 45 minutes later Chantelle rocks up with a large cob loaf and a family pack of Maltesers.

Surprise guys, Chantelle’s here!” His best mate shoots him a stare that can only be likened to Mike Whitney stink-eyeing a loser who didn’t dare to win.

By 8:45pm, William can no longer ignore the mega-bitch vibes he is copping from his bored girlfriend. “Alright guys, it’s getting late, and I’m taking the missus down to Mandurah tomorrow”.

His mate’s grunt in acknowledgement. Thommo finally cracks it, and knocks the bread to the ground, “always putting us second, mate, you’re a joke and I’ll say it, this cob loaf tastes like shit”.

William looks over at Chantelle who is scowling like a footy boomer at an umpire appreciation night. He responds, “sif I am mate, you guys are just jealous because you all drunk and single!”

The pair storm out and complains bitterly about his friend’s immaturity on the ride home.

Don’t worry about calling the ranger, this dawg is back on his leash.

Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?