Tale of the Red Apple

 

While I lie here withering in a state not to distant from death, my much beloved husband is making model boats - his fist attempt at woodwork in some 30 years.

Knowing my deep loneliness and distress he visits for a short period, some 40 seconds, wakes me and informs me he is off to have dinner. Now i confess, in my drowsy state I didn't request food, but I was still waiting for the bread roll I had asked for some 3 hours ago.

Hearing the clattering and gobbling above my weakened form you can imagine how agonisingly the time went by. Mark had said he would come back after dinner. He did not specify a time, but he left at six and to eat takes 10 minutes max. He returned an excruciating 40 minutes later...with a red apple.

We have only been together for 7 years so how was he to know that not once during that period had a red apple entered our home, for you see I have a somewhat irrational dislike for said colour apples and always select the sharp green variety.

When quizzed he talked of my favourtie meal - spag bol and then how he had eaten banana custard. Not once did he consider i might need some of this goodness. Understandably I nagged. I set out the main role of man as provide, spoke of my woes and then gave him an opportunity to surprise me with triumphant revealing of spag bol.

On my return from the loo, he is still say doing his sudoku. I have indeed married the worst carer. I proceed with more nagging and he finally walks the 20 steps to the fridge and gets me some left overs which even then he has to be reminded to heat up for me. I'm still waiting for my juice....

p.s. red apples are actually rather nice