Toast with Jam

Why is it we all stay within a comfort zone? Approval, laziness, or have I just given up?

Jack was talking utter shite again, and the Mrs was having none of it. Sick of him and his riddles she didn’t even answer.

I’ve decided, to stretch my wings, try and soar that wee bit higher, on to the next level. Do you know what ah mean doll?

Eye, go for it doll. She said and really didn’t have a fucking clue what he was on about, but thought it best to say something.

“Your just saying that, you don’t have a clue what the fuck I’m talking about, you take no interest what so ever in what I do.” Jack said, trying reverse psychology.

“Listen, arsehole, don’t hit me with this shit, if you want to get better at what you do then fucking go for it, if you want to stay where you are then fucking stay there. But don’t accuse me of having no fucking interest, who’s the daft cunt that’s got to read your wee fucking stories every fucking night, eh? Who’s the daft cunt that listens to you greeting every fucking night when somecunt slates your wee fucking stories? Who’s the daft cunt that listens to that, fucking keyboard, rattling away all fucking night every fucking night and never ever fucking complains about it, eh?”

Slightly taken aback, Jack struggled for words, still coming to terms with the severity of the attack, he thought about it for a few seconds and tried to find some reason for such an attack

“And since when did you become the Advocatus Diaboli?” He said trying the intellectual route.

“Since you became fucking holier that thou, and thought you were the best fucking thing since sliced bread, arsehole, that’s when I became the Devils Advocate in this fucking house. Now if you don’t mind I have a fucking crossword to do and I can’t get it done while your feeling fucking sorry for yourself.”

Jack continued to rattle away at the keys, annoyed that he forgot he had married a wee catholic girl and didn’t win the intellectual row.

“Do you fancy some toast and tea for supper doll?” he said after a while.

“Put some jam on it, see if you can take it to the next level.” Said Mrs, enjoying the sarcasm.

“Cow!”

“William Shakespeare.”

“Heartless bitch.”

“Mr know it all.”

Jack left it at that, and went to make the supper, he knew, the cow always had to have the last word. Jam....a good idea he thought.