"Breakfast!" he said."Mmmmm," she said, from bed.
A few minutes later, he stomped through to the bedroom.
"Honey, was there dishwashing soap on the grill pan?""Hmm?" she mumbled, trying to wake up."Was there dishwashing soap on the grill pan?""Um... yes. I was letting the grease loosen so I could wash it easily.""Why would you leave soap on the grill pan?" he said, exasperated."What did you cook?"Bacon!" he wailed. "I made bacon sandwiches! If you have soap on the grill pan, why don't you put it in the sink?""Why would you cook on a dirty grill pan? That's disgusting.""It didn't look that dirty!""I'm sorry," she said, knowing how much a bacon sandwich in the morning means to an Englishman.
Placated, he stomped off to his study.
Taking a few minutes before getting up, she rolled around and stretched. He stomped to the bathroom, every step accentuated on the wooden floors. She heard him spit twice then rinse with mouthwash, garling loudly.
And that's when she realized that the whole thing was actually quite funny.
She heaved herself out of bed, took her happy pill, brushed her teeth and went through to his office giving him a hug as he sat at his computer.
He looked doleful. She was smirking. He looked up at her, quizzically.
"Can I laugh about this yet," she asked, giggling, "or is it too soon?"
I won't repeat what he said.
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