I Don’t Like Broccoli

It started off innocently enough. There he was in the kitchen pouring himself a drink after work. It hadn’t been a particularly gruelling day. Bob from accounts had queried an expense on his recent trip, but after a couple of questions had approved it. The report was due on Thursday, but he’d done most of it on the train back, in between staring out at the passing countryside and thinking about their upcoming camping trip. Beth had settled the groceries on the sideboard and was packing away the butter and eggs. In other words, an ordinary day.

“You want a drink?” he asked. He was still wearing his coat.

“Yeah,” she said, opening the fridge. She was wearing that dress he liked. A nice plain dress that set off her figure.

“I thought I’d fry some chops. You like broccoli, don’t you?”

“No,” he said.

“What?” she asked, looking at him strangely.

“I don’t like broccoli,” he shrugged. “Did you get any tonic?”

It looked like they were out, but…