When a human male feels in command of his home, he’ll want for kippers. These fish-based beasts he’ll fry up on random mornings to slake his hunger pangs, consequently flooding the property with the stench of dead fish.
For the human female of the home, this can be an undesired development. As such, this agony aunt feature fishes around for the answer to this very fishy stench.
Kippers Stink Out the Family Home
Dear agony aunt,
My husband is called William. He is 50 years old. He really likes eating kippers. I married him last year of the year 2025, January, due to my other husband eloping with a woman to Thailand. The heinous swine! My new husband doesn’t elope with women to Thailand (yet, anyway), but he does eat a lot of kippers. We married hastily after dating for a month. He proposed with a solid gold ring, causing myself to proclaim in shock, “Golly gosh!” Naturally, I agreed.
That was before I knew of any of this blasted kipper business.
It’s not a one-off. My other husband, prior to his elopation, had the occasional kipper-based breakfast. That would occur in the region of thrice annually. Thrice. With my husband William, I am lucky if it occurs on the basis of a mere thrice WEEKLY. Weekly!
Truly, the putrid stench is enough to drive any dutiful wife up the proverbial wall. It makes me angry each morn to alight from one’s doze, then head downstairs to be ambushed by the rotten aroma of recently fried kippers. Not being one for conflict, I have not yet addressed this with my husband. He is unaware of my rage, yet I am dropping him hints. For example, upon having to kiss him (a peck on the cheeky) after getting home from work the other night (not that displays of affection are beyond me, I believe they just must be limited to a strict level aligning with strict Conservative values) I made it clear of my distaste for kippers. The kiss ended within two seconds, likely less than one, then I was able to abruptly announce, “Gosh, a male colleague in work today had KIPPERS for lunch! Everyone did vociferously protests, making the kippers-for-lunch male very embarrassed to the extent he handed in his resignation mere hours later!”
My husband chortled at the story and stated firmly, “Yes, that must be most annoying having someone do that in the office! Indeed, for it is the HOME where one has kippers for the relative comfort of thine quarters whereabouts there is nary a whiff of complaint for said activity.”
He was not getting the message.
It was forced upon my person to chuck his kippers into our bed one morning, whilst he still slept, so he could awaken and scream in mortal terror. As with that BEASTLY and lowbrow film The Godfather. I heard my husband roaring to the heavens! He confronted me, I admitted upon the crime, and the police were called.
I am currently under arrest and awaiting parole. Instead of calling a lawyer, I decided to write this message to you pleading for assistance.
Yours sincerely,
Henrietta Bouquet
Hi there, Henry. Seeing as you’re awaiting parole, we’re not legally obliged to assist you in any way. What we will tell you is your behaviour of sticking kippers in a man’s bed is of such diabolical Lovecraftian nightmare fuel we’ve permanently banned you from submitting further agony aunt requests.
Rot in prison, you vile and contemptuous swine!
