It was a got-home-late evening so we decided on a takeaway. Driving in the car to our favourite fish and chip shop, Nick and I gossiped about work, and came to an agreement about our forthcoming visit to Cornwall. There was no queue at the fryer. I fumbled in my purse while Nick decided on what he wanted. He went for the daily special and I asked him if he was going to have the chips or the potatoes, then, while he was deliberating, I ordered for the children. ‘Potatoes’, he said and added, ‘unless you wanted to share some chips’.
‘Have what you like’, I said, and ordered my pie. The chip shop man looked up from over his fryer to my husband. ‘At least you had a choice mate.’ Good humoured and yet intended to make me out to be bossy. That was how I took it.
I spent two hours puzzling over why he said it, thinking through what had been said. In the end, I told Nick and Nina what was troubling me. They knew something was up. I had been quiet. They laughed at me, rightly, I’m too sensitive. I joked that I would never go back to Popeye’s again. Nina knew I was faking, Nick wasn’t so sure. He remembers that a waiter at Tumeric Gold offended me five years ago and I haven’t returned. We dropped Nina off, clutching her overnight clothes and a bag of yogurt, Shredded Wheat and biscuits. Treats at a shelter that can only provide one meal in 24 hours, our small donation. The homeless people hanging about outside, waiting for 9pm, looked thinner than usual in their summer clothes. I gave myself a reality check.
Still though not even Jo Brand on the TV late that night could bring things back into perspective. I’m over it now. Almost. Oh, and look, I only wasted a day on it.
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