The Dynamics of Change

'Bring the dirty plates through, please Leigh.'

'Just a minute, I've got a text.'

'Leigh? I asked you ten minutes ago...'

'Half a mo, it's Joe. He wants to meet at the pub.'

'The dishes, Leigh. Now! And put them in the dishwasher.'

'Just off to the Rose and Crown.'

'In a pig's eye. Dishes. Leigh? Leigh? Damn you!'

'Hey honeybun? Are you in bed?'

'It's three a.m. There's no room in the bed.'

'Wha...'

'You couldn't be bothered to put your stuff away. So I put it in bin bags and put it on your side.'

'What's that smell? Paint?'

'You couldn't be bothered to put the lids on properly. They leaked. Enjoy.'

'My best jacket. My Italian loafers. My game pad.'

'Told you clear up your mess. I'm your partner, not your mother, not your slave. I'm not doing it anymore.'

'Mornin' honeybun. What's for breakfast?'

'Whatever you like. It's all in the cupboard. I've eaten.'

'There's no milk. The cereal packet's empty. No tea bags either.'

'I gave you the shopping list yesterday but you went for a run instead. No shopping. No food. You take your turn. By the way, you still have to clear the dishes. And take out the rubbish.'

'But I did it...'

'Two weeks ago. You take your turn or I'll do the lot. Including all your stuff from the floor. I am not running around after a slob like you anymore.'

'Okay. Okay. Where's the bin bags?'

'Run out. They were on the shopping list. This place had better be clean and tidy before I get back. See ya!'

''Where're you going? You can't just leave!'

'Out. I can. I will. I do. By the way that slice of ham you've just eaten? It's five days over the limit. Enjoy.'

'This is Kate. Leave a message.'

'Kate? I don't feel so good. Come home. I need you.'

'Are you going, Kate?'

'Nah. Remember when I couldn't walk and he ordered a delivery pizza? And expected me to answer the door? Besides. I've got a date.'

'You? A date? Who? Where? I don't believe it!'

'Jonathan Crich.'

'The marriage counsellor? No wonder it's a new you.'

'Phase one. Show I'm changing. Phase two. Get him to do something. Phase three. Put my foot down.'

'Do you think it'll work?'

'Not a hope. Which means I ramp up to Phase four. Let him stew in it.'

'He'll be as happy as a pig in muck.'

'At first. Then he'll find that I've maxed out his cards. No deliveries. His phone won't be paid, either. The mortgage will be in arrears. Soon no home, unless he actually shifts himself to open the bill demands and gets another job to pay them.'

'Isn't that cutting off your nose to spite your face? Homeless and no income?'

'I won the lottery. Phase five. Move on. No divorce necessary, slobface couldn't be bothered to get married. Jonathan and I are honeymooning on a long cruise.'

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