The Lamb of Bob
It was a warm Sunday afternoon in suburbia. Bob had just finished watching the football and was climbing the stairs to check on his daughter, Jennifer.
He opened the door to find the room in disarray and his daughter lying on the bed with her headphones on, bobbing her head to the music.
‘I thought I told you to clean your room?’ he fumed.
She slid the headphones down to rest around her neck and replied, ‘Sorry, I didn’t get around to it. I’ve had a ton of homework.’
‘That’s just an excuse! You’re sitting listening to music!’
‘Jesus! I’m just taking a break!’ she snapped, pulling her headphones back on.
‘Don’t talk back to me, young lady!’ he yelled. ‘This is unforgivable!’
The girl rolled her eyes and groaned, ‘Not this again… ’
‘Yes, this again!’ he barked, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her downstairs to the garage. ‘There must be atonement!’
‘Seriously, Dad, do we have to do this again? This is ridiculous!’
‘This is what it takes for me to forgive you!’ growled Bob, fumbling through an old chest.
‘Can’t I just barbecue you some lamb?’ she offered. ‘The smell of it cooking always puts you in a good mood.’
‘No, I’ve done away with the barbecue. It’s not who I want to be.’
‘Done away with it?’
‘Yes, I sold it to Paul down the road. He loves his burgers,’ he laughed.
‘No, not the fake beard again… Can’t we just sit down and talk about this? Ergh, he’s getting out the dungarees… ’
He put on the beard and started to pull on the dungarees.
‘Dad, please… ’ she begged.
‘I’m not Dad,’ he replied, ‘I’m Uncle Jesse!’
‘Okay, Uncle Jesse… I’m sorry I didn’t clean my room. I can run and do it now.’
Her dad, in the guise of Uncle Jesse, went to the tool cabinet and pulled out a hammer. ‘I don’t make the rules,’ he sighed. ‘I just so love you that I must take on this burden. It’s the only way you can be forgiven.’
‘A hammer, Dad? This is just like when you slammed your leg in the car door because I stole a packet of crisps! This makes no fucking sense!’
‘Please abstain from using such language,’ he began. ‘This reminds me of the time a farmer and a shoe salesman met in the pub… ’
‘Oh, for god’s sake!’ squealed Jennifer. ‘Not another sermon! And why the hell are you hanging from the wall mount?’
He clambered down. ‘Fine, let’s just get this over with.’ He walked over to the garage door switch, pressed the button, and the door began to rattle open.
‘Why?’ gasped his daughter. ‘Why?’ She cupped her head in her hands. ‘The neighbours can see!’ she squealed.
‘I want them to see.’ He placed his hand on the bench, raised the hammer over his head, and said, ‘This will hurt me more than it hurts you.’
‘Yeah, no shit!’
He pounded his hand with the hammer and shrieked with pain. Trembling, he dropped it to the floor and cradled his bruised hand.
She stared at him in bewilderment.
He took a deep breath and said, ‘I’m going to bed. When I awaken in three days’ time, this will be healed, and you will be forgiven. Don’t tell anyone what you’ve seen.’
‘Three days! You’ve probably broken it, you fucking idiot!’
