Elephants don’t make good husbands.
The crockery was the first thing to go. His massive rump, one would think it almost comically matronly – the way it swung and jostled behind him. A pompous arse and one that sent the welsh dresser crashing over, along with mother’s two Wedgewood spaniels.
And then the carpets.
Ghastly. He never apologised once the whole time we were married. And all he ever wanted to eat was buns and peanuts.
In the end I took him to the zoo and left him there. I visit sometimes, just to see his fat, useless arse behind bars.