Spicing things up

After catching Accountant reading over my shoulder as I stood cuddling him, I politely enquired as to what he was looking at, peering back past him to check out his laptop.

"Nothing" he'd spluttered, pulling me closer whilst making desperate 'mmmming' noises.

I leant back further for a better look. Accountant's grip on me tightened. My mouth fell open in horror as I looked up at him, my confusion clear.

"Is that a balance sheet?"

He shook his head. "No. It's a set of accounts."

"Oh, much better" I cried, wondering if it was as bad as it seemed and whether my next door neighbour might have a textbook on the subject.

Thirty minutes passed in which he ate his dinner, still perusing company accounts and I, sat staring at him from the lounge, arranging a babysitter. We were going on an emergency date.

"Be home by 6pm, mum and dad are coming round early tonight" I reminded him when the big day arrived.

He grunted his affirmation, cycling off in the pyjama trousers he always mistook for jogging bottoms, towards the Downs.

At precisely 6pm, the phone rang. Praying he wasn't down A&E like last time, I answered tentatively.

"Hi, it's me," he said. It was a good start, he sounded unharmed.

"I'm just at a pub in Steyning." My mind began to wonder how that could be - what with him due home and all. I articulated my concerns.

"You should have told me I had to be home by 6pm" he growled.

"I DID!" I screeched, thinking how much easier life would be if men came with even basic functionality.

Afterwards, I sat fuming, when my mobile phone beeped. A photo message awaited. The screen revealed Accountant, sat in the pub, smiling broadly. In his extended hand, he held up a full pint in 'cheers' mode.

"Why that good for nothing, ggrrrr...." I muttered, pulling off my wedding ring before placing it on top of the toilet seat and photographing it with my phone.

Send.

(Apologies to our marriage preparation course leaders, I know this isn't what you meant by positive acts of love.)

Romance was not in the air as we drove over to Brighton. We were seated opposite each other in the restaurant and Accountant began playing with his mobile which he'd upgraded that day to include internet access.

When he popped to the loo, I ordered our dinners, making a slight alteration to his usual Sloppy Guiseppe pizza. Accountant didn't notice as he tucked in. He noticed soon after though as he began taking long, slow, swills of beer. His eyes gently watered as his 'Etna' pizza erupted in his mouth, spicing up 'date night' splendidly.

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