by Melodie Corrigall
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Stanley was struggling to get the front door key out of the lock, a sagging bag of groceries at his side, when his wife Moira, sporting her designer sunglasses, confronted him. Her steely accusation, “I saw your car today,” stopped him in his tracks.
“You were in Burnaby?” he asked clutching his sagging bag of groceries.
“No, in Kerrisdale on 41st.”
“My car and I were in Burnaby.”
“That’s where I thought you were going.”
“And right you were.”
“If I’d known you were coming into town, I’d have met you for lunch.”
“As always.”
“Your car was smack in front of my favourite Italian restaurant.”
“Where we’d have met.”
“With a scarf in the back seat.”
“Your scarf?”
“Not my scarf, an expensive pink scarf.”
“Then you knew.”
“I thought you’d taken my advice about your secretary.”
“To buy her a scarf?”
“No, dumbo, to thank her for her extra work.”
“She’s well paid.”
“I didn’t expect you to take her to lunch at my favourite restaurant.”
“It wasn’t my car,” her husband sighed, pulling wilted leeks from the grocery bag.
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