Her heels clack onto the road as she makes her way back to me. I feel shy as she approaches, but I know I want her closer. She takes my hand and entwines her elegant fingers around mine. She whispers that she’s sorry, I shake my head and silence her with my kisses. Deep. Slow. Searching.
But then again, I'm now a single mum to 2 kids, with no job, a fanny like a badly packed kebab and more tyres than fucking Kwik Fit! I may as well have, shit on my top – 'cos he is 6ft 1” of toned, sex on legs and I look like Mr Blobby on Crack!
I don't know why it was getting to me so much, I think it was merely that she'd chosen the cleaning products to start doing it on.... I couldn't help myself, my mouth was opening, the words had formed “Do you mind? It's not the fucking generation game” I grumbled.
“With all this 'COBRA'virus going about, I'm surprised you haven't
I know its petty and perhaps at the ripe old age of 36, I should learn how to share but, I am sick to death of bounding excitedly to the cupboard to be presented with mere crumbs!
I’ve even started buying biscuits that I am certain they don’t like and STILL there is none left.
I just want a fucking cookie, is it too much to ask?