Ladies who (make) lunch

In my new role as Stepford Wifey, I’ve been packing lunch for Husband. While housekeeping and gardening services remain essentials in our new constrained budget, a lunchbag for Husband seems an unnecessary extravagance. So I’ve been making him take an old jungle-decorated one belonging to Sprog 2. Husband is worried the jungle lunchbag is lowering him in the estimations of the pretty laydees in his office. Recently, I packed him a homemade muesli bar in a bright orange Tupperware muesli bar container (social pressure at a recent suburban Tupperware soiree required buying something). Husband was opening the bright orange, plastic Tupperware container to extract his sticky, homemade muesli bar when the most attractive girl in the office appeared at his desk to ask him a question. He reckons his chances with the most attractive girl in the office have been dashed. I think his talon-like fingernails accomplished that a long time ago. Anyway, today’s lunchbag was crammed with leftover curry, cheese and biscuits, a homemade scone with jam, and an apple. Husband, like the Sprogs, isn’t allowed dessert at night until he’s had his apple. As any good Stepford Wifey knows, it’s essential to maintain the good health of the sole bread-winner in the family. And Husband is looking disturbingly decrepit at the moment. He tripped up some wooden stairs on the weekend and gave himself a nasty limp. Coupled with a stiff shoulder – old-age is a terrible thing – he resembled Lurch as he shuffled out the front door this morning with his jungle lunchbag. Soldier on, dear Husband, your family, the cleaner and gardener need you.   

TONIGHT’S MENU: Erm, more leftover curry and reheated homemade chicken nuggets. I over-catered on quite a grand scale on Saturday.