Saturday, 6 July 2013

The Strawberry Tart

I came in from an evening walk with the mistress and immediately noticed a subtle but distinctive smell of strawberry sauce in the kitchen. Were we having strawberry tarts for supper? Had the master decided to blow off his diet? The mistress obviously thought so. The first words accusingly out of her mouth were, "Where are the other three?" as she saw the plastic container holding a single tart. He'd been at his physio not the shops so the presence of the tart was unusual.

"I told them you'd say that!" exclaimed the master. He went on to explain how there were three physios working at the clinic that night and each had had one tart from the pack leaving one. They'd been offering it to each client at reception as they finished their treatment but everyone else had been too polite to accept. The master had also declined the offer, because of his diet, but was persuaded when they suggested he take it as a surprise for his wife. And now she was accusing him of pigging out on a pack of tarts. He still gave it to her though.

She ate it quietly and didn't share. I didn't get any either. Pity, I like strawberries Or as she prefers to call them, straw-berries. Maybe it's a teacher thing.