Fiction - short story - Bon Appetit - Part IV

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Here is Part IV of a comic short story which I'm entering for a competition. Click on any of the green boxes at the top of the post and you'll get taken to the other parts. Bon Appetit It was soon after this that he came home one night said “I’m taking up lessons in self-defence”. I stared at him. I hadn’t thought I was an aggressive person. He could do with some lessons in communication but hardly self-defence. The whole thing seemed a bit odd. "Self-defence?” I asked. He nodded. "Tai Kwon Do?” I asked. He shook his head emphatically. "Ju-jitsu?’ Another shake of the head. “Judo?” “No, no,” he said. “No. You’ve got the completely wrong idea. Lessons in self-defence – before you kill me with your cooking. I’m taking cooking lessons. Starting next Tuesday. Blokes in the Kitchen, it’s called.” I was a tiny bit hurt – for about ten seconds. But then – it struck me. This was what my life needed! A cook! But a ‘someone else’ cook. A ‘someone other than me’ cook. Quentin went off to his lessons. He didn't say much about them for a while but he seemed to enjoy them so I didn't pry too much. However I became very worried when he came home one evening and said he had met the perfect woman. I thought he had already met her – me! Now he was saying there was someone else! I must have looked a bit nonplussed as he hastened into his story about this 'perfect woman' that he'd met. At the Blokes in the Kitchen cooking lessons, Adam was the chef. He was a good teacher apparently, never assuming that his students could boil water or knew how to peel an onion. He went over each process carefully, never taking anything for granted. Adam had an off-sider, a woman called Eve. My eyebrows shot up at this point but Quentin assured me that was their real names, Adam and Eve. It seemed Eve was an absolute gem. She provided each instrument as Adam called for it much like the staff in an operating theatre although instead of 'scalpel' or 'sutures' it was 'skewer' or 'skillet'. Eve also gathered up the used utensils and washed them quickly and quietly. Another of her duties was to plate up samples of the demonstrated dishes and pass them around for tasting. But – and here Quentin got to the end of his soliloquy, raised his eyes heavenwards, placed his hands in an attitude of reverence and informed me in hushed tones that, throughout the whole evening, she never said a word. He expected me to be equally impressed but personally I was thinking what a traitor Eve was to our fair sex. However I did manage to keep my mouth closed.