We all screamed!

Ron gave me a terrible fright this week. He went to the shop so I took the advantage of having his large bod out of the way and started vacuuming.
I seldom use his industrial model cleaner because it is ancient, coughs dust in my face when I switch it on, has a four centimetre nozzle and is just waiting to electrocute me. Its roar is tremendous.
The cats deserted and the pondokkie shook and vibrated while I slaved away, conquering the ever invading dust.
Meanwhile my beloved came home earlier than expected. He tooted at the gate and no dutiful wife came to let him in (while keeping the dogs from escaping).
He knocked on the door. No answer. He rapped on the window, no response. He is so deaf he could not hear the cleaner.
Ron comes from a long line of sergeant majors plus he has a trained baritone voice. His decibel level was amazing as he bellowed my name through the kitchen window. The cleaner can only be switched off at the kitchen plug, and he chose that moment to let rip.
I jumped around and saw a terrifying red face with wide staring eyes and a bush of frizzy hair standing on end. Naturally I screamed.
He screamed.
We both screamed.
Our dear old gardener started sniggering.
Ron had to have a stiff drink to calm his nerves. I settled for a healing cup of tea. The vacuum cleaner has been banished to the silly corner. Dust prevails.
MARIE PARKES
Maidstone