Looking back, the break-up had been inevitable from the moment she handed him the key-ring. Allegedly a blue fluffy bird, it looked more like a malformed marshmallow rolled in a pile of carpet droppings.
It was the first thing she had made with her new found passion for sewing and when it was presented to him one evening there was a mixture of pride and self-deprecation in her voice. For his part he thought it looked ridiculous and when she said “Of course you’ll be taking this to work tomorrow to show off what your wonderful wife can do” he took it with an extremely large pinch of salt.
Come the next morning he had already forgotten about the comment and barely noticed the blob lying purposely on the kitchen bench next to the sandwiches that she had packed for him before heading to work herself.
Later they arrived home in the winter dark at the same time, dumping their coats and bags on the hallway floor and unleashing their scarves. He opened the door to the lounge, turned on the light and walked over to the kitchen to start the ritual of cooking dinner together. But for some reason she didn’t follow him.
When he turned around he saw that she was bent down picking something up from under the couch. She stood, glared at him accusingly and held out her hand. Lying on it were the remains of something that had all the hallmarks of having been savaged by their cat Tomahawk. He smirked sheepishly and started:
“It must have been very realistic for him to have done that.”
The look that followed spoke volumes and that evening he ended up cooking by himself.
Yes thinking about it now, it was then that their troubles really began.