Randy the Man and Martha the Woman's romance relationship was in trouble. They went to talk it out at a place in public one evening where couples went. They were trying to have a serious talk, but the music was so loud that Randy couldn't concentrate. He started yelling so she could hear him. Their conversation was also going in a serious direction, so it was easy for Martha to mistake the yelling for anger rather than volume.
"I feel like you don't hear what I say anymore!" complained Martha, under the noise.
"I can't hear what you're saying!" yelled Randy.
"You need to pay better attention to my needs." said Martha.
"What is this krap!!?" yelled Randy as he pointed to the invisible music.
"You think what I'm saying is krap?!" said Martha, hurt.
"No, I'm talking about the music!" yelled Randy.
"I can't hear you over the music!" said Martha.
They left and had a real good laugh about the misunderstanding with the music. Things seemed okay.
One day Martha the Woman wanted Randy the Man to help her bake a cake with blue frosting. Randy the Man was comfortable in his masculinity and had no problem helping with cake bakes. He also loved the taste of cake. The only problem was Randy had the manly task of fixing some stuff in the bathroom that he'd been meaning to fix for a while. Martha didn't mind fixing bathroom stuff, even though it was a manlier job, but she was busy baking her blue woman cake that day. Randy decided to forego bathroom repair.
"I'll help you bake the blue cake." said Randy.
"That's so sweet of you. Almost as sweet as good cake, hehe." said Martha.
"Well as long as it doesn't taste like that awful, shitty cake place in Los Angeles, California, on Melrose Ave, called Sweet Lady Jane, that's managed by an older, longwinded guy, with a grayish beard and longer hair, named Arnie, who brags about famous basketball players ordering special cakes there, but the cakes use too much oil, have a lousy texture, bitter frosting, and leave an overrated, bad taste in your mouth!" said Randy.
"Ha, don't worry. I know that terrible man and place you're talking about. It'll easily be better than that." said Martha.
"I've heard from many reliable sources that that guy Arnie is a real psycho, in addition to being an asshole." added Randy.
"Let's not worry about him or that place. Despite the satisfaction we would have if it went out of business, or if he stubbed his toe so hard it broke, giving him months of displeasure, someone who seems so miserable must surely live a miserable life. Try to remember that."
"What a wise thing for you to say, Martha."
"He's definitely a piece of rubbish though, haha." added Martha, who was British, hence her use of the word 'rubbish'.
Randy helped Martha with the cake. His job was to make the blue frosting. He hastily put a wrong ingredient in there, because he's a man, ya know? And the blue frosting exploded in his face, covering it, his shirt, and stuccoing the kitchen walls.
"Oh great!" said Martha, "that's just like you to do that."
"Cut me some slack!" said Randy.
"I was going to cut you some cake, but looks like it'll be a bit longer. Go wash up." said Martha.
Randy went into the bathroom, he looked like a drippy blue alien. He reached for the faucet knob and turned it.
"Drip. Drip. Drip." said the faucet.
"Uh oh." said Randy.
Randy turned the knob back and forth.
"Drip. Drip. Drip." is all the faucet said. It needed fixing.
"What's taking so long in there?" said Martha, who needed to bake her cake.
"Tap, tap, tap, tap..." said her stern foot, as she anxiously awaited his cleanly return.
"I didn't fix the sink yet!" said Randy, who could not see, because his eyes were spackled with blue. Martha continued to tap her foot.
The "Tap, tap, tap..." and the "Drip. Drip. Drip." began to blend together in a beautiful harmony, the tapping, representing her frustration with him, the dripping, representing the result of his procrastination and occasional incompetence. Randy reached for a cabinet handle that Martha had locked earlier, to get a towel for his face.
"Ricket, ricket, ricket." said the locked cabinet, as Randy pulled the handle. This noise was to be attributed to both of them, as she'd locked the cabinet for no discernible reason beyond 'over organization', and he was the one pulling on the handle. The "Ricket, ricket, ricket," laid over the tapping and dripping, created an even more perfect, natural, untrained, musical slice of life.
The numbing cacophony continued for who knows how long? It seemed to get louder. Couples from the whole building began to file into their apartment, to do a tribal, unchoreographed Hora-like dance to their beat.
Some couples came in to talk out their relationship problems, but it was too loud and they misunderstood each other. Later everyone ate the finished cake then continued on with their lives.