Yesterday, being a bank holiday, it rained all day. By mid afternoon, he who fixes the computer and I were twitchy with inaction, so we donned our coats and boots and braved the elements to walk to the supermarket in town where the coffee we like was supposed to be on offer.
At first, strolling through the quiet streets of the village, protected by trees and houses and hedgerows, it was all quite pleasant. It wasn't until we turned into the park that I realised we might have made an error. Bent double into a fierce wind driving the rain against us, we pressed on.
He who fixes the computer determinedly attempted to find entertainment in the situation but I must confess that by the time we reached the main road, and my brand new black jeans were cold, soaked and plastered against my legs, I did experience a temporary failure of the sense of humour. Reaching the store to find the coffee wasn't actually on offer did little to help my mood.
It was as I sulked by the notice board that things improved. Gazing listlessly at the notices, the sense of humour that had deserted me in the deluge returned with gusto when I read the following missive.
For Sale
One 10 month old rabbit
with large hutch
£40
The hutch is in good condition
It was that last sentence that did it, that final desperate appeal to the potential buyer. Luckily I didn't have a pen to hand, or the temptation to scribble in front of it 'The rabbit's a wreck but …' might have been too much.
The joke was on me when we got home and I peeled off my soggy jeans. My legs, once a fetching pink, were now a riot of black stripes from the drenched denim. He who fixes the computer took one look and announced it looked like I'd been barcoded. He even went so far as to suggest that if he were to scan me I would probably come up as £4.52 and out of date.
For legal reasons it's probably better I don't share my response here.
Some wives get flowers, and chocolates, and compliments ….
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