There was a time when I waited for Sunday. After a week of work, and I worked hard, a day of rest was very welcome. I loved to sleep. I am not an atheist, and I go to church maybe once a year for midnight mass on Christmas eve. So I'm not a churchgoer basically. Therefore Sundays did not mean that I was seated in the pews in church listening to the pastor's sermon. The pastor, in fact, would not recognise me until my sister, who goes more often to church, introduced me as her brother after Christmas Eve mass. I also had a problem sleeping and would lie awake at nights trying desperately trying to fall asleep. I tried counting sheep and it never worked. I also tried those sleeping videos on YouTube. I listened \ and felt bored. They were not music I was familiar with and they kept my eyelids firmly apart. Even a safe tranquillizer that my doctor prescribed did not have any effect. The only thing to do then was to switch on
“Oof!” I exclaimed as something hard bounced off my skull.
I discovered that it was a mango from my mango tree.
I brightened visibly.
“Eureka, I've been kicked up to the rank of Archimedes ,” I chortled happily.
“It was Sir Isaac Newton
“Was he a numbskull?” I asked, “He had a pretty thick skull to deflect an apple from its trajectory!”
“Yes he sent it to Pluto , it's still in orbit there,” my neighbour said coming up to the window.
There was a commotion at his house and he turned around to see two income tax officials, in full riot gear, leering at him.
“I have been raided, at last, thank god!” He exclaimed, “I thought I was getting ignored for Tom , Dick , and Harry , down the street.”
“That must be Tom Thumb, Charles Dumbbell , and Prince Harry ,” I said having a quick look around to ensure that I had shut my door.
“You have been hoarding clothes,” an income tax official barked at my neighbour.
“We may never know how many he has stashed away in his Swizz account,” another official said rubbing his nose.
I got a funnel and put it to my ear to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“He must have several thousand sacks of the stuff,” the first officer said.
“He must be a thick head to think that he was immune to income tax raids,” the second officer remarked.
“The thick head must by my neighbour,” he gasped, “He juggles mangoes with his pate.”
“We must raid this blockhead at once, where does he live?” the first officer asked.
The neighbour pointed to my house, “There.”
“You live cheek by jowl,” the first officer commented suspiciously.
“The cheek of it!” my neighbour complained.
I looked at my considerable hoard of chocolates and false teeth in alarm.
A pounding sounded on my door.
“Stop it,” I said angrily opening the door, “It isn’t insured.”
“Then you must donate some of your ill-gotten gains to insurance companies,” the second officer said.
“I don’t donate to unknown entities,” I said.
“Now let’s see what you have been hiding under a bushel,” the first officer said.
“You make me blush!” I said.
“What you got there anyway?” they asked.
“Just my underwear,” I said hotly.
“You are an exporter of underwear?” asked the first official skeptically, “do you have a permit?”
“It’s always permitted to export underwear, it’s a permissive society these days,” I replied.
“Don’t try to fool them by beating about the bush about your bushels,” my neighbour said appearing at my window.
“Where is the underwear?” the first official asked authoritatively.
“I’m wearing them,” I protested.
“Then why do you export them instead of wearing them?” asked the second IT official in surprise.
“He must be doing it to earn foreign exchange on the sly,” my neighbour remarked.
“I am not sly!” I protested.
“Must be as wily as a fox,” the first IT official said.
“But you can’t fox us,” the second official said.
“I can’t show you my underwear,” I said adamantly.
“What else have you been hoarding?” asked the first official.
“Chocolates and false teeth,” I admitted with a sigh.
“Did you file your returns?” the second official asked.
“No, they always get returned to the sender,” I said sadly.
“You must be glad that it did not end up at the Dead Letter Office,” the first official grinned.
“Do they dissect the letters like chloroformed frogs there?” I asked surprised.
“Yes they rip into them,” a postman said arriving on the scene.
“Who’s this?” the second official asked me.
“Must be an accomplice,” said the first official.
“He has just brought me my stocks,” I replied defensively.
“Another tranche of foreign underwear?” they asked distrustfully.
“Just my chocolates and false teeth,” I said blithely as the postman pottered off.
“You’re not hiding skeletons in the cupboard?” the first official asked.
“You have to ask Mother Hubbard about that,” I confessed.
“Why don’t we just machine gun his cupboard?” asked the first officer, his finger itching at the trigger.
“Shoot first and ask questions later!” the first officer exclaimed in delight.
“Don’t they do that in wartime?” I questioned.
“Are you a quiz master?” asked the second official.
“I could not qualify because I failed in the high jump,” I confessed.
“Are who a whiz kid then?” asked the first official.
“No, but my stomach wheezes sometimes,” I said.
“On a full stomach?” the second official queried.
I nodded.
The first official also nodded.
“That sure is suspicious, let’s strip him,” the second official said.
“You will find nothing in the wardrobe,” I said.
“Isn’t that even more suspicious?” the first official queried.
“What about skeletons in the cupboard?” asked the second official.
“You should ask Mother Hubbard,” my neighbour suggested.
“I am afraid of spooks, so Mother Hubbard took them away,” I said truthfully.
“They are hand in glove,” cried the second official.
“Let me shoot him in the buttocks,” the first official pleaded.
“But I won’t be able to sit down for weeks,” I protested.
“What about the fleshy part of the thigh?” the second official asked anxiously.
“The flesh is weak,” I said hastily.
“Why are you harassing this poor man?” the post man said appearing on the scene.
“This is not harassment, it’s lawful penny pinching,” the first IT official said.
“You will get a stinker for this,” the postman warned and whistled for the policeman.
“The policeman came huffing and puffing, “Where’s the fire?”
“You should arrest those two gentlemen,” the postman told the policeman pointing to the two IT officials.
“Now you fellahs, were you thinking of stripping on the street?” asked the guardian of law and order.
“They wanted to question my underwear,” I complained.
“That’s downright vulgar,” the policeman said.
“That’s all right,” the first IT official said.
“Two wrongs do not make a right,” the second official nodded.
“And they are looking for skeletons,” the postman said accusingly.
“In my cupboard too,” I added.
“Are you fellas running from the law?” asked the policeman narrowing his eyes.
“They were also thinking of blackmailing Archimedes and Newton ,” I said.
“Now keep me out of this,” said my neighbour taking to his heels.
“Where do they live?” the policeman asked the IT officials.
“I last saw them throwing apples and mangoes at each other and sticking straws in their hair,” the postman said promptly.
“Do they bite during full moon?” the policeman asked.
“History does not say,” I said getting a word in.
“I can’t mess with them,” the policeman said slowly backing away,” they might give me rabies.”
“That leaves the field clear for us,” the two IT officials said.
“Let’s tickle his feet till he gives up the ghost,” the first IT official said sadistically.
“Did you bring the feather?” the second IT official asked.
“I thought you had that up your sleeve,” the first IT official said.
“But you sent it by post to Timbuktu
“You totter off or I’ll brand your behind with the postmark of Gondwana,” the first IT official told the postman.
“I will take proper legal steps,” the postman said walking away with dignity.
“See you then in the Dead Letter Office with postage from Ghana
“Aha! There goes today’s post for post-mortem,” the second IT officer cried gleefully.
“You will not get my chocolates and false teeth even if you bounce coconuts on your hairy brains,” I swore at the IT officials.
“We will call up the spirits of Archimedes , Einstein and a mango or two who will haunt you till you pay income tax,” the first IT official threatened.
“You can go balance a mango or a pumpkin on your shrunken posteriors,” I said defiantly.
“It’s we who will take you to a shrink,” the second IT official said stamping his foot.
“I will not shrink an inch from my false teeth and diet of Swiss chocolates,” I said insolently.
“We will have a talk with your dentist then and next time we will bring a feather duster for prolonged tickling,” the first IT official said with a steely glint in his eyes.
A mango dropped to the ground, which made the two IT officials jump.
“Archimedes must be near!” exclaimed the first official.
“And, Einstein must be closer,” the second said.
“Tally ho!” I said encouragingly as they snorted steam through their nostrils, pawed the ground briefly and went galloping down the street with a brief neigh or two.
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