My poor wife is once again being left alone with the Small Bald People while I go out on the razz. As I sit here she is lying on the sofa, pretending to feel sorry for herself. I am going out for a curry. I am going to talk about manly things like the world economy, the correct way to tie a Windsor knot, and - if forced into making a decision wheter you would rather make love (a) to David Hasselhoff with a bag over his head, or (b) Gwyneth Paltrow with leprosy.
My wife expects me to feel guilty, but I do not. I know her secrets.
I know that I will return and find her sleeping on the sofa surrounded by empty Quaver packets and Twix wrappers. I know that she will have watched "Four Weddings and a Funeral" four times followed by the Eastenders Omnibus.
She will be happy. I will be happy. It is a perfect night.
Nightcap
15 years ago
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