A Heed to Tweak, Do You?
I awoke to a rattling sound in the vestibule at the front of my domicile. While wiping the grog from my eyes I began to think I heard, along with the rattling, someone's voice.
I opened my bedroom door and heard a bit more clearly that someone was calling out, "A heed to tweak do you?" repeatedly. With English being only my second language, I got a dictionary and furiously began searching for these words. Unable to make any headway, I decided this must have been an idiomatic expression, and so, as the rattling became increasingly more agitated, I pulled my "Idiomatic Expressions" book from my desk. No luck there, either.
I hurried down the stairs and put my ear to the door of the vestibule. It began to seem as if possibly the rattly guy was actually telling me that he had to take a poo. So I unlocked the door and saw a very short, very intense looking gentleman, with a tambourine in his hand, and I gestured for him to come in while saying, "The washroom is just up the stairs and to the left."
The most curious of expressions overtook his face; he opened and closed his mouth a few time making very little noise, with the tambourine in his hand apparently forgotten.
"Is my face dirty, then?" he asked.
My phrase book still in hand, I began furiously searching for an expression involving a dirty face. I could see that the man continued to look a bit confused by my use of this book.
"Well, sir," I said, "I'm not sure what I've done to cause you to think that your face might be scuffed, but I assure you that you look as squeaky as a mouse." (My control of the phrases of the wonderful language was returning to me, slowly.) "Please, feel free to take a poo in my washroom whenever you feel up to the trek up the stairs."
"But I," he began, lifting the tambourine and holding his other palm out to me.
"No, no, it's quite alright, sir. You'll find that my facilities are sparkling and brilliant, and my surfaces are clean! I insist, I don't want to make you wait any longer, after my impolite delay in coming to the door." I grabbed his arm, nicely coated in the sleeves of a polyester suit-jacket, and began guiding him toward the stairs.
"I'm not sure," he began.
"No need to worry," I interrupted. "The TP is neatly aligned with the seat, and it's quite certainly close enough to that even given the length of your arms, you will have no problem reaching it!" I was proud of my own ability to adjust so seamlessly to the culture of this marvelous land. Take a poo, indeed!
I ushered him into the washroom, closed the door, and called in to him, "there are towels in the closet, there. Take your time, I'll be downstairs preparing some tea."
As I began down the stairs, I heard the rattling resume from in the washroom. Apparently my stocky visitor had a nervous pooper.
I had barely begun drawing water to the pot when there was a tugging at my shirtwaist. Startled, I jumped around, inadvertently knocking my fast-pooping visitor on his hopefully well-cleaned bottom. His tambourine rolled across the carpet and came to a rest against my pillar of tree.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, sir!" I exclaimed. "I hadn't expected that you'd be so quickly finished! Please accept my apologies."
"It's alright, Mr. Aduoiut. I need to speak to you. I don't need to use your bathroom."
"Pardon my asking then, sir, but why were you hollering that you needed to take a poo."
"When was I hollering that?"
"In my vestibule."
"Err... what?" I was confounded by the little guy's failure to recognize that he had been rattling his tambourine inside my vestibule.
"Yes, well... be all that as it may, I'm here to let you know that there are heat-hot peanuts in your alley," he continued.
It was at this juncture that I noticed that I was no longer carrying my phrase book. I must've had quite a blank look on my face as I stared back at him.
"What do you intend to do about this?" he was asking.
I continued to stand there, my eyes now darting from here to there, searching desperately for my book. My mouth was moving.
"SIR, THERE ARE NUTS IN YOUR ALLEY, AND YOU NEED TO TELL ME WHAT YOU ARE GOING TO DO ABOUT IT!" As he began to shout, I darted toward my kitchen table, tipped it over, and hid behind it. I'd barely squatted down, however, when the tiny person was up on its edge, screaming at me, "FUCKING NUTS, SIR! AT LEAST TELL ME YOU UNDERSTAND THE SEVERITY OF THIS SITUATION!"
Next I knew, the man was turning around, his eyes getting very wide. He let out a gargling cry, and was pulled from the table's edge by something I could not see. Trembling, I stood up, only to see his feet as he was somehow dragged out of my house through a window. What was left in my kitchen was just a lot of orangish dust. It was then that I realized that I really had to go poo, and I hoped the crazy midget hadn't done too much damage to my washroom.