Friday Night
Chinese food, crap TV, late night, bed.
As she shut down her computer, tired out after a long day, she comforted herself with the thought that it was Friday; her first week back since 2 glorious weeks off for their honeymoon, had finally finished. It seemed to drag on longer than most weeks; she reasoned that this was because she'd spent the previous fortnight driving around America, doing whatever took her fancy. She was also very much looking forward to a night of absolutely no effort – her reports were finished; Harry had had the day off, so in theory he'd done housework; it was takeaway night, and, most important of all, she'd recorded Midsomer Murders early in the week for them to watch.
The first thing she noticed as she walked in the door was the smell. Then, as she wondered into the kitchen to investigate, she saw the bombsite.
"Harry!" She couldn't help but laugh at the sight of him stood over the counter, furiously stirring a pan of pasta. He turned on the spot, his face a mixture of rage and embarrassment, with flour covering one of his cheeks. "What are you doing?"
"Bloody recipe said it would thicken when you stirred in the pasta," He mumbled before turning back. After putting her bag and coat down, she wrapped her arms around his back and let her chin rest on his shoulder, observing his attempts to save the disaster – she wasn't quite sure what he was actually trying to make.
"What are you doing?"
"Making you dinner,"
"It's a Friday night..."
"I know, but I just thought I'd make an effort, you know," He began to mumble, realising how silly he looked. She managed to pick out something along the lines of 'impress you'.
"Sweetheart, I've spent the past 5 years having Friday night takeaway with you. Anyway, you've already got me bound for life," She waggled her wedding ring finger in his face. "So you don't need to impress me." She leant over and took a string of spaghetti, instantly regretting it as the taste hit her tongue. "That's foul."
"I know."
"Chinese or Indian?"
"Chinese."