Sophie’s Gnocchi
I wondered why Sophie was always so annoyed with me. She’d threatened divorce more than once. This morning, yet another argument. Sophie was money oriented whereas I was forever saying it’s people that matter. She’d flounced off in her usual dismissive manner, shouting a final order from the car window. ‘Burn the take’.

That had me flummoxed. Was she finally listening to me, or was it pure sarcasm? Her hairdressing salon was successful. She revelled in the rewards, yet I always hoped she would eventually get her priorities right. Was this the breakthrough?
I decided to think positively, rummaging around in the mahogany cabinet for the leaf-shaped pewter dish, I emptied yesterday’s takings into it, spreading the notes neatly and lit the first corner. Soon a smouldering pile of grey ashes remained. I was elated.

I gathered some red rose petals from the garden to scatter over the incinerated takings.
The excitement was mounting. This evening would be wonderful. The aroma of Sophie’s slow-cooked Gnocchi wafted through the air as I heard her car pull onto the drive.
Sadly, my elation was short-lived.

‘You idiot. I said TURN THE BAKE’.

I guess I’m going to need a lawyer.