“You won’t believe what happened!” says the LTLP.
She has been to the supermarket. Because she is at home from work after having Baby #2, she has been doing stuff like this a lot, and cooking. It is a bit disconcerting for me, like some odd gender reversal thing. I have reclaimed the traditional male role, whereas normally my life is more like ‘The Worm That Turned’ by the Two Ronnies. Gradually she is realising the stresses and strains that I endured when fulfiling this ‘staying at home and not really getting a lot of mental stimulation’ thing.
“What?” I demand.
“Well, I was in the supermarket. And the Baby was crying at the checkout. And the assistant asked me if I wanted some help packing and I said ‘yes that would be helpful’ as the Baby was crying, and so the assistant called over to another assistant and they came over and started doing the packing, and I was sort of helping and sort of sorting out the baby,” she explains.
“I see,” I reply.
“And anyway I’d bought a plastic crate to store stuff in, and the assistant who was helping to pack knocked it on to the floor, and there was a big crash and it broke. And the assistant who was doing the till told me not to worry, and sent the other assistant off to get another one off the shelves, but I don’t think that the assistant realised that it was the other assistant who knocked it over; he thought it was me that had knocked it over. So he was sort of looking at me thinking I should be grateful to get another crate as he thought that I had knocked it over, whereas really it was the other assistant who had knocked it over and really it was them who should have been a bit apologetic.”
“So what happened?” I ask.
“They got me another crate.”
There is a pause; I realise the story has reached its conclusion.
“If I were you, I would not bother attempting to write for EastEnders,” I advise.