For Fandango’s Story Starter #5, where we build something around the following phrase:
Sometimes it’s hard to know the difference between…
Ron was tired. His shoulder hurt after his exploits today, and he was secretly pleased when the rain started falling, providing respite from taming the garden. It was the same every autumn – cutting all those bushes back for the new growth next spring. And Ron had worked hard today, cutting back more than a trailer’s worth of growth. Not only had it started raining, but Ron was starting to feel a definite nip in the November air, as summer transformed itself into winter.
“It’s starting to pour out there, love”, he remarked to wife Jill as he laboured inthrough the patio door.
“Oh, well done, my trouper”, she praised as she stared out onto the garden. “I tell you what, you go and get changed out of those wet things, and I’ll make us a brew. Go on, get your slippers on, and we can just spend the rest of the afternoon together on the sofa.
Sounds like a great idea, enthused Ron, and rather than sitting down, he took himself off to their bedroom. In the background he could hear the strains of the kettle, as he discarded his dirty clothes into the wash basket.
A few minutes later, he returned to the lounge. “Ah, that’s better, love”, he exhaled, as he sank into the sofa. Jill was still in the kitchen.
“Im just making it. Would you like me to bring you a chocolate digestive, too?”
“That would be grand. It is a Sunday, after all.”
A short time later, Jill re-entered the lounge, bearing a cup of tea in one hand, and a plate of biscuits in the other.
“There you go, love. I’ll just go through and get mine, and I’ll be back in to join you. Here”, she handed him the remote, “see if you can find anything good on the telly”.
Jill had just gone back into the kitchen when she heard the cough. Running back into the lounge, she saw Ron spluttering, struggling to breathe in, a mouthful of tea spilled unceremoniously onto their new parquet floor. Instinctively, she patted Ron’s back, as he caught his breath.
“What the fuck? Are you trying to fucking kill me?”
Bemused, Jill could only ask for further explanation.
“That fucking tea”, griped Ron.
Still perplexed, Jilly finally understood when she took a sip of the tea. “Ugggh”, she winced, “but you know, sometimes it’s hard to know the difference between sugar and salt.”
I bet that happened to us all at least once, didn’t it? It’d be a daily occurrence, chez Bump, except I never get a cuppa made for me.