![]() Steve sat down next to his wife and looked at the selection of leaflets on the old mantelpiece. There was a low, magazine covered table in the centre and what we’re probably meant to be calming works of art on the wall. It had once been a room of a house, and still had a fireplace in it. The receptionist smiled at Steve as he followed his wife into a large area across the hall from the reception desk. “Thanks, Mrs Mitchell,” the receptionist replied, “Please take a seat in the waiting area.” “Steven Mitchell for Dr Freeman, 3 o’clock,” Millie said to the immaculately dressed receptionist in the foyer. Millie continued looking at him for a moment, then turned and walked towards the clinic. “Sorry for what, Steve?” she asked, still staring at him. It wasn’t backing down, it was just avoiding a lecture later. He would apologise, but only as a tactical move. Steve knew from experience that arguing with her was a lost cause. Now I want an apology,” she demanded, staring at him. “You can swear at your computer game, but I won’t have you swearing at me. Millie was looking across the roof of the car as Steve stood up. He intended to glare at Millie but all he saw was her jeans-clad backside getting out of the car. “I’ve known five year olds with the same problem who are better behaved than you.” “I wouldn’t be surprised, actually, Steve,” Millie replied, pulling into a vacant spot. “What do you expect me to do? Throw something?” he asked testily. “And Steve, I want you to behave in here, OK?” “Here we are,” said Millie as she swung the car into a busy looking carpark. When did he ever suggest she might seek ‘professional intervention’ about that? ![]() 'For better or worse, wasn’t it? So what if ‘worse’ was the occasional damp bed, or a bit more washing? She was overweight, anyway. Christ, he knew guys who were alcoholic, and their wives put up with it without ganging up and dragging them to the doctor. Well what if Steve didn’t think, he asked himself. ‘We all think you need some professional intervention’, she had said last night. She had not only involved bloody Janet Freeman, but her sister and her mother as well. Millie had taken it upon herself to turn a minor issue into a big deal. “It’s not getting worse,” Steve said grumpily. “This is exactly why we are going to see Janet. Steve glanced across at his wife, then returned to gazing out the window at the neat, middle-class houses flickering past. Millie turned to Steve, her husband of six years as she drove through the suburbs to their doctor’s appointment. ![]() “Honey, I know you’re unhappy about this, but there’s no need to sulk.” Millie and Steve - When a husband needs diapers. I might continue this one too, if anyone thinks it’s worth it. Meanwhile, here is one that sort of stands alone. So, for anyone reading the other stories, I promise I’ll get back onto them. Sometimes, when I have a bit of a break from writing, I find it hard to get back in the groove. I know I have two unfinished stories on this board.i do apologise - my damned job and a few other responsibilities have been sucking up my spare time.
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