Saturday night

19 Feb

‘It’s not so bad sitting home on Saturday night,’ Adelaide thought. She had a leftover birthday box of scorched almonds and a bottle of Coopers pale.

It’s not so bad sitting at home on Saturday night until someone turns the television on.

It’s not so bad sitting at home on Saturday night until someone turns the television on and the winter olympics is showing only the dreadful ballroom dancing on ice (at least that downhill stuff would give you a vicarious rush).

It’s not so bad sitting at home on Saturday night until someone turns the television on and the winter olympics is showing only the dreadful ballroom dancing on ice (at least that downhill stuff would give you a vicarious rush) so you’re forced to watch Parkinson (which is what your parents used to watch when they started staying at home on Saturday night and you went out to drink vodka in unsafe quantities and smoke a packet of cigarettes in a night).

It’s not so bad sitting at home on Saturday night until someone turns the television on and the winter olympics is showing only the dreadful ballroom dancing on ice (at least that downhill stuff would give you a vicarious rush) so you’re forced to watch Parkinson (which is what your parents used to watch when they started staying at home on Saturday night and you went out to drink vodka in unsafe quantities and smoke a packet of cigarettes in a night) and then your husband (gorgeous though he is) starts letting out just the tiniest, teensiest beginnings of snores.

‘I’d better buy him a pair of slippers before winter,’ Adelaide thought.

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