She'd brought him a mug of tea in bed. He'd been feeling pretty good about the world.
He'd leaned forward to adjust the plethora of pillows she'd pushed behind him, so many pillows, when one small sausage shaped pillow had fallen. He'd watched it as it fell, in slow motion, like a tree in a climate change awareness documentary.
He'd been surprised that the tiny pillow possessed the mass and velocity to knock the mug of tea over, to tip its contents onto her clock radio. He'd been surprised at the volume of the mug, there appeared to be more tea on her bedside table than could possibly have been contained by one small mug.
Surprised or not, that's what had happened.
He'd stared for a moment, then acted swiftly, righted the felled mug, pulled his t shirt over his head and begun soaking up the tea, all the time preparing his defence.
Surely this was a natural disaster, an act of god?
He looked up, she was staring at him from the sliding doorway of her bedroom. A romantic crisis report was being filed, the full bench of her Court of Potential Boyfriend Suitability was being called to session.
He awaited judgement.
Parkstreet
3 comments:
I love this. Thank you.
In your defence that mug being much wider at the top than the bottom is made to tip over😜
Thank you, kind of a true story.
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