A fictional supper

rainy, misty, overcast temps 18

Fire in the fireplace again today! This must be the most wretched summer. Oh well, better on the way, apparently. And, still, while I'd prefer a 'real' summer, the weather really doesn't affect me all that much. REally.

The beans have blossoms as do the peas...climbing furiously up the vegetable patch fence.

The field is filled with clover...so that when I walk Trudy in bare feet I have to pick it out from between my toes...I look like a flower child. And feel like one too. Even in the mist, this area is gorgeous.

It's 7:30 in the evening and the sun has just appeared. Time for dinner...long day at work for both Michael and me...but a good day...though I still sometimes think the book is something that came out of the business end of a goose. Or two. Or, on really bad days, a bear.

Must make dinner before Michael divorces me...honestly, I must be the worst wife. I stare at a computer screen all day...or into space...sometimes not even answering him when he talks. I gobble candy, huff and puff and turn purple while ellipticating and when dinner arrives it could be anything from a tomato sandwich to a steak. In fact, even though I'm going down to make dinner...I have given it absolutely no thought. Maybe a gummi bear sandwich. On whole wheat. Maybe I can convince him he's already had dinner.

I'll think of something. Clover soup. Oh oh, I hear him moving in the living room...maybe if I wait long enough he'll come up with something.

Wait, maybe we've already had supper.