The Sensible Thing

Well, I'm ill, again. This has been the worst year yet for colds and viruses lasting a minimum of four weeks, everybody's illnesses seem to be lingering on and on.

I won't go on about it - I have one of those ripping sore throats, the sort that feels open all day, tastes vaguely of blood and is a whole new experience akin to firewalking if you have to cough. Oh yes, and heres the funny bit, I've lost my voice. Its been gone for about four days now since those two late nights, and makes the occasional cameo appearance as some sort of flutey, reedy, multi-tonal effort reminiscent of The Diva. Trying to shout at the kids sounds more like playing silly buggers with a synthesiser.

Anyway, I am definitely a sandwich short of a picnic at the moment, not firing on all cylinders etc etc etc.

So here's a little story 'like wot I wrote' before I was ruff and barking. If I've posted it before then sorry, like I said, the lights are on but no-one's home.

The Sensible Thing

Andrea wasn't the sort to nag, rather such a quiet, forbearing type that people would hold her up as an example. She and Joe had the perfect marriage, everybody said so.

Joe was practical, a man's man; friendly in a blustering sort of way and always happy. Life was easy, straightforward, and if he wanted something done, he just did it. Some thought Joe a little blinkered, but no-one had a word to speak against Andrea. She was the sweetest person and between them they were welcome anywhere.

Of course they had their differences, but not so many recently. There was a fine balance now; Joe had all the answers and Andrea scuttled around him doing things his way. Happy times.

Last year the dog died, mangy mutt. Andrea adored it, said it kept her company. They buried it in the garden, and that was that.

How was he to remember that her rose bush, the one he dug up yesterday, was the marker for the damn dog's grave? He'd stuck the shovel through the carcass. Half decomposed dog, everywhere. Andrea cried, but he made her help clear up, throwing parts at her across the garden, to the patio, then making her hold them down while he used his tools to reduce it to manageable parts. She had dutifully watched every move. Then they'd bagged it up and done what Joe felt was the sensible thing, got rid of it down a storm drain.

Today Andrea washed the tools under the garden tap and put them away neatly in the shed. She felt better now, after several more quiet trips to the drain, the last with bottles of bleach to remove all trace.

A smile crossed her face as she reached into her pocket and felt his watch and wedding ring.