Adelaide carried the cup of tea to her husband. She had put one and a tiny bit spoons of sugar and topped it up with a cold water splash. Just the way he liked.
‘Thanks love,’ he said. He did not look away from the TV. She put the plate with his cheese and biscuit on the table next to the lounge, then took a seat.
‘You know I just love that Tony Jones,’ Adelaide said. ‘I think he’s gorgeous. I’d marry him.’
Adelaide’s husband blew on his tea, then took a slurp.
‘Even though he wears a wig?’ he asked.
(Scoffs) He does not wear a wig!
Men never understand the Tony Jones thing.
I’m not sure I do either. But I once elicited the same sort of effect by declaring my undying love for John Doyle.
John Doyle, I get.
Ha ha ha! TJ lives in my neighbourhood – I often see him around, often wearing dark sunglasses so he doesn’t have to meet curious eyes. No wig.