SALT

“Would you give it a rest, woman.” I didn’t mean to get angry but it just happened, it was just that recently everything I did seemed to be wrong in some way. Ever since the doctor told me I had slight health issues, slight he’d said… He even told me not to worry to much about it, just to be careful. The worse thing I did was tell my wife.

            Since then, she’s watched me like a hawk. `Don’t do that, Dear.` or `Let me do that for you.` like I’m some sort of old man already. Don’t get me wrong, I know she means well, I know she’s doing it because she cares, but I have to be allowed to do things, I can’t spend the rest of my life covered in cotton wool. I just wish she’d back off a little and let me breathe.

            I’ve already cut down on all my fatty foods. I used to love a plate of sausage and chips, or a bacon and egg sandwich. But now, it’s down to salads, or muesli, ack.. Bloody muesli, squirrel crap it is. Not enough meat for a real man, although I must confess to being a little more regular now, but that’s besides the point.

            “You have to let me live a little. I’m going to go crazy if I can’t have the odd pleasure.” I purposefully twist the grinder over my poached egg as I stare at her, a little to angrily to be honest, but she was winding me up. “For the last three weeks now…” I twist again. “You’ve been on at me…” and again. “I’ve given up bloody smoking haven’t I?” twist, “I’ve got rid of the chip pan.” Twist, “all I want to do now, Is have a quiet breakfast. With my Bloody low fat newspaper.” Twist, “ and have a peaceful weekend.” Twist. “Without you going on and bloody on about my diet.” Twist.

            “A little salt will do me no.” Twist. “Bloody” Twist. “Harm…” She sat silently before me. Anger welling up being her eyes as she places her knife and fork quietly next to her unfinished breakfast before standing up.

            “I was going to tell you that you’d picked up the `Pepper pot`, you ungrateful prick!”