The girls at number 44 get smoothies in their packed lunches, the ones with covert veg as well as fruit. Those neatly dismantled boxes with their jaunty halos gloat at me as I walk Jake to school; no Smart Price apple juice here.
I walk the dog early on Mondays now. Too early for glass clink and cardboard swish to disturb the curtain twitchers. Too early to need my dark glasses.
Things look better already.
On bin day anyone can see what a fabulous weekend we had. Friday night we dined in on one of those M&S ready meals; garlic chicken and herb lattice. We packed Jake off to bed early, stuffed with Ben & Jerry’s. After sharing a rhubarb and vanilla cheesecake, me and Rob snuggled in front of the telly to finish off the Chardonnay. I don’t remember what was on but if the neighbours heard yells or screams, let them think we were binge watching Breaking Bad.
Wasn’t Saturday a scorcher! Rob fired up the barbeque and we had a few friends over for Waitrose Aberdeen Angus Steak Burgers. We sat out the back sipping Rioja until past midnight. That smash was just a fumbled wine glass. Just dropped, not slammed down, my palm not rammed into the scattered shards. Just a dumb accident.
On Sunday morning Rob let me snooze while he took the Ocado delivery. He roused me at ten with cherry compote and Greek yogurt on Belgian waffles.
When I pass number 44 on the school run I shake my head at the vodka bottles in their green box. Ours tells a better story. But even Ecover Non Bio won’t shift that cherry juice from the duvet cover.
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