My wife Gladice brings me my tea. She brings it to me right to me chair, but it’s not my favourite. Ice cold Vodka, straight from the freezer, now there’s a drink I can enjoy. Every day at 3 o’clock we sit in the lounge watching some incessant rambling from some greying politician and we drink our tea and eat our cake.
Gladice makes the best tea cake this side of the annual church fair. She actually makes most of the cakes at the fair, so I guess I’m the lucky one. Only problem is, tea cake gives me horrible re-flux and it burns me insides to buggery. I just can’t bring myself to tell her, she’s been doing it so long it would break her heart.
So I wait. I wait until she’s up and into the next pot of tea from the kitchen and I leg it to the loo. Straight down in one flush it goes. It must be why it wins all the awards at the fair, it’s so light and fluffy it goes down in one flush, no mess.
I’ve been drinking tea and flushing cake for as long as I can remember. But it makes her smile and that’s what love is I reckon. I don’t know what I will do when she goes. I’ll probably have to swap the tea for vodka, the cake for chips and hell, I might even have a go at baking a cake myself.
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