Five Sentence Fiction – Delicate
When we first met, there was an instant chemistry, it was lust and like at first sight and love followed on about the third.
As we got to know each other, we realised that on paper we were nothing like the perfect match – she’s a night owl, I need my minimum eight hours; she drinks coffee, I am strictly tea; she loves going out, I’d rather share a sofa and a dvd; she votes Conservative, I’m lifelong Labour; she’s catholic, I’m an atheist; hell when we met she was hetero and I was leaning towards the homo side of bi – but none of that mattered.
Of itself, the fact she is a cat person and I’m about dogs wasn’t an issue, we kept one of each, but the problems began when her furballs were served up the cordon bleu fish and meats she picked up from the deli, but this man’s best friends had to slum it with good old supermarket brand Dog’s Dinner.
“They have delicate constitutions,” she would insist, “they need the best quality food” but not at those prices, not when we were struggling for money, and it was that lack of understanding, that failure to appreciate, that ignorance of our circumstances that finished us.
I hear through the grapevine that the company finally let her go after all that uncertainty, and I genuinely have sympathy for her, but those damn moggies – well they are going to have to toughen up.