The Cutting

We sat across from one another. Tension thick in the air.

The new arrival was due in precisely three weeks and it was precipitating some frankly bizarre behaviour from the good lady.

Firstly there was the incessant moving of furniture and painting of things. That was fine. In fact that was easy. For a man such as myself painting is as easy as breathing. So was the furniture moving. True, I almost broke my neck attempting to move a giant bookcase down a flight of stairs single handed but hey ho. If I had broken it I would have just grunted then wrapped some gaffa tape around it and carried on.

This was different though. Tonight she was talking about cuts.

She even had the ten year old laptop out which was wheezing like an old man as it attempted to open an excel spreadsheet.

I said nothing and squinted at her like Clint Eastwood,

The thing is, the next year will be quite tight financially so we should look to cut back where possible.

I snorted and looked at the ceiling.

So having a look at our outgoings I can see a couple of areas I think we can cut back on.

I expelled air from my nose with a skrook and made The Godfather face.

I think the gym membership will have to go first.

WHAT? The gym? Baby, we can't scrap the gym. What about all this?

I motioned with a muscular hand at my honed torso lurking beneath my shirt.

This shit aint cheap lass.

Argument successfully made, I leaned back in the chair. Beat that Missy.

You are right it isnt cheap. But ha, you hardly ever go. You go a couple of times before a holiday and a few times in January after christmas.

I spluttered like a duck in an oil slick.

Nonsense! I am never out of the gym, these guns don't polish themselves you know.

You have a weights bench in the garage, why dont you use that?

It's Scotland, its too cold. I could die in there in Winter.

The good lady made an oh really kind of face.

I mumbled a few more things about the bitter north and the cold before giving in.

Alright then, yeah. Cancel the gym.

She moved the creaking old mouse and checked it off. The she smiled somewhat malevolently and looked up from the screen.

How many coffees do you drink a day?

Whoa! Back up sparky. How many whats do I what? How dare she? Cut me and I bleed coffee. Did she have no shame?

A couple. Why?

A couple my arse. How many really?

I fought down the urge to say A million.

About four. Maybe five.

Oh my god, you spend over a tenner on coffee a day? So like fifty pounds a week or more?

Hmm. She was obviously hysterical and could no longer recognise rational behaviour. I contemplated having her committed to an asylum. Then realised that I might need a hand looking after two children. Hmmph, better throw her a bone.

Alright alright. I will cut back.

Will you, do you promise?

I promise baby. You can depend on me.

She happily ticked something else in her spreadsheet. I grinned darkly. Right, Operation hidey-hide-the-coffee-habit-like-fuck was about to swing into action. First up, I had better buy some mints...