Til Death Us Do Part

The story about a woman who laced a cake with rat poison and gave it to her husband reminded me of a story from a few years ago when I was in Tenerife with my wife.

For the first three nights we walked along the beach front, passing the endless row of restaurants where men of dubious honour would prowl outside trying to seduce passers by to try their food. There was one particular restaurant where the 'prowler' was quite insistent, to the point he was becoming a pain in the rear. On the fourth night, however, Mrs Smith clung, like grim death, to a fruit machine in an amusement arcade and I opted for a stroll on my own. Sure enough the Spanish prowler approached me.

'Ola, my Scottish friend! Where is your wife? Have you killed her?!'

I looked at him with glazed eyes and, chewing my lip, fought back the tears. He could see I was upset.

'What ees wrong my friend?'

'You have offended me with that comment' I replied.

'How so?'

'That woman is my third wife - my first two wives died in tragic circumstances'

'Oh, my friend' said a now concerned Spaniard, 'I am so sorry. What happened?'

'Well,' I began, 'my first wife died of food poisoning. She ate some poisoned mushrooms. There was no hope - she was dead within hours' I shook my head.

'Oh my friend - I am really sorry. And what about your second wife?'

I gave him a pitiful look. 'She died after receiving a severe blow to the head'

His jaw dropped as he tried to find the words 'Oh no! How did that happen?'

I went over and put my hand on his shoulder. 'She wouldn't eat the mushrooms...'