Thank Goodness We don't Have a Pond...

Fish fingers don't always cut it. I have mentioned previously how waiving a packet of Birds Eye in front of Dearest makes him joyous in anticipation. However, of late, he suggests eating out more than ever before. While this presents a navigational challenge to a Slimming World member, it certainly gives him a twinklier twinkle than any Doigt du Poisson that I can produce. So much so, that I mentioned this to an old friend of mine who said that whenever she suggested eating out to her husband, he told her that there was no need, because her meals were so lovely. Yes, so lovely.

I brooded on this. So last night, Dearest said that Son et lumiere had suggested that he was getting far too keen on fine dining, to which he had taken great exception. Then, he saw my face. Of course, he said, I get a great deal of fine dining at home. Too late. The die is cast.

The same friend said that she had been surprised but pleased, when her husband said that he was taking this afternoon off work. Envisaging an envigorating walk along the beach at the very least, her hopes were dashed when he said he needed a hand to buy some timber for an autumn frame for the pond. She should have been alerted by the arm length rubber gloves he'd asked her to purchase on Monday.
Now, if my husband had asked me to purchase some of those, I'd have thought that he was finally going to help with the thirty six year old pile of dishes in the sink. Fine dining indeed...
But hey, it's the weekend!













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