‘Daaaarling,’ I say, ‘Do you like my new bikini?’

John pauses to look up from his computer which oftentimes I think he should have married instead of me. It certainly gets more attention and is probably worth more than I am. Not that that would be hard. Anything worth more than approximately £10.34 would be worth more than me.

‘Where’s that from?’ he asks.

‘The shop of top,’ I say. (ok, ok I know I said I’m too old but but but in my head I’m still 17 and that counts for something doesn’t it?)

‘How much did that cost?’ he asks.

I’m indignant. Where was he expecting me to buy a bikini from? Lidl? Was he expecting me to craft one out of three polythene triangles and a bit of string?

‘How dare you?’ I say, ‘You just spent £55 on clothes in H&M.’

John thinks he can shop without me knowing.

John thinks he can use the house account card to buy clothes.

Oh newsflash.

‘Well I needed those clothes for work in Singapore,’ he says.

‘Well,’ I answer, ‘I needed this bikini for work. This bikini is my work clothes.’

He stares at me in disbelief.

‘What?’ I say, ‘I shall be wearing this bikini by the pool whilst I write my next book.’

And he actually can’t argue with that. And neither can the tax man when I put the receipt through expenses.

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