Mr Red decided that he and Mrs Red needed to get away. They had barely seen each other over the past few weeks and he felt they were growing apart. Plus, he had witnessed Marcello from the beach café flirting with Mrs Red again. Why she insisted on having her coffee at that particular café was beyond Mr Red. Whenever he bought coffee there it always tasted like dishwater.
He decided they should get back to basics, no wi-fi, no screens so a camping trip was planned. Mrs Red could think of nothing worse but kept her mouth shut as it was the first time, in a very long time, that Mr Red had taken the initiative towards anything romantic.
The camping ground was very pretty with its acres of lush, green grass and tall, shady trees. It even had a sweet little pond which they pitched their tent beside. They were very content and spent a relaxing afternoon fishing in the pond, eating and drinking before retiring for the night.
But Mrs Red found it difficult to sleep as it was stifling hot in the tent. So she grabbed a bottle of bubbly from the esky and sat under the stars to enjoy the peace and quiet. She nodded off in her chair but woke with a start when something slithered across her foot. She thought nothing of it until she saw a snake disappear under the tent. Feeling very tipsy she thought it was the funniest thing she had ever seen and couldn’t wait to tell Mr Red.
“Mr Red,” she giggled stumbling through the tent door. “You’re not going to believe this but there’s a snake under our tent. Look! You can see him over near my bags.”
Mr Red didn’t answer.
“Wakey wakey here comes snakey,” she hiccupped as the snake slithered slowly towards them. It looked a bit creepy, all lumpy and long underneath the floor of the tent. She didn’t like the look of it at all! It frightened her.
“Mr Red! Mr Red! Get up!” she begged prodding him with her foot.
There was no response.
“Oh please Mr Red wake up,” she sobbed as the snake came closer. Then she had a thought. What if the snake had bitten Mr Red? Snakes fangs were very sharp. Perhaps it bitten Mr Red through the floor of the tent. What if Mr Red was dead?
“Help! Help! Help!” she screamed at the top of her lungs as she ran outside. “Mr Red has been bitten by a snake. Help me! Help me! I think he’s dead!”
“Someone’s dead you say! Should we call the coroner? Should we call a priest? Do we call an ambulance?” the campers asked as they ran to her. “Where’s the snake?”
Sobbing Mrs Red pointed to the tent where Mr Red lay motionless on top of his sleeping bag. Tiny beads of sweat shone across his brow. The snake slithered around frantically looking for a way to escape. A flash went off as someone took a selfie.
“He doesn’t look good does he?” the crowd agreed.
“He’s all sweaty and clammy!”
“But we can’t kill the snake can we?”
“They’re protected aren’t they?”
“Well I’m not going in there with that slithering beast in there!” they all agreed.
“Oh for God’s sake! Get my husband out of there!” Mrs Red shrieked like a mad woman. “Or I will get than damn snake and make sure it bites every single one of you.”
So, fearfully, they jostled into the tent, grabbed Mr Red by the legs and dragged him outside. They searched for a pulse. A cheer went up, he was alive. Mrs Red slapped Mr Red hard across the face! There was silence.
“Ouch,” Mr Red whimpered. “What?”
“Did the snake bite you?” Mrs Red demanded.
“Hope not,” Mr Red yawned.
“Then wake up!” she demanded.
“Can’t. Took sleeping pill. Hate camping. Can never sleep.” And he fell fast asleep again.
Mrs Red was furious. So furious in fact that the campers ran away leaving her with the snake. But where was the snake? It had disappeared. Not taking any chances she grabbed the car keys from Mr Red jeans, left Mr Red where he was and locked herself in the car where she stayed for the night.
The next morning she was woken by Mr Red gagging beside the car.
“What the hell now she thought,” opening the car door. “Oh my…..!” and that is as far as she got before she found herself gagging right alongside Mr Red.
You see, that sweet little pond where they had spent a lovely afternoon fishing and splashing about was not very sweet at all. It was, in fact, the sewage dump for all those glorious RV’s that Mrs Red had admired when they’d first arrived. That sweet little pond bubbled and belched until it was full to the brim of raw sewage.
In a frenzy the Reds tore down the tent, threw everything into the car and Mrs Red drove straight to Marcello’s for a coffee.
“What’s wrong?” she asked Mr Red who was studying his coffee in disgust.
“It tastes like loo water this time,” he complained tipping it onto the sand.