A Trifle
Jane had invited her boss, Ben Cavendish, and his wife for dinner. She had spent the morning frantically cleaning and the afternoon methodically cooking.
She wanted to make a good impression.
Homemade pate, Spanish chicken and a sherry trifle
It was exhausting watching her.
The kitchen was calm, everything was organised. I peeled myself a banana and asked if she wanted a coffee.
She was stirring a yellow concoction, there were discarded eggs on the side; custard, I was thinking.
“Yes” she said. She looked up, “What are you eating?”
“A banana. “
“That banana was for the trifle, you’ve been absolutely no help and now you’ve just eaten the last banana”.
“Calm, I’ll pop and get a banana – why I’ll get a bunch.”
***
I wanted my wife’s dinner party to go well. I walked around the shop, cheese that always goes down well. The cheese girl was helpful, and I worked out a varied assortment. I chose an English blue, a soft French, and a smoked German.
Perfect, now for some port; cheese and port, a classic combination. She wanted to make a good impression.
Some after-dinner mints caught my eye. Perfect, I was proud of myself.
I put the things in the car and drove back home.
***
Jane was in her apron and put her hands on her hips. “You’ve been gone ages.”
“Yes,” I smiled, “but look, cheese, port and after-dinner mints”
I knew she would be amazed.
She came over, looked in my bag, and glared at me. “And the bloody bananas?”