Ruth crawled out from under the table. She reached up and gripped the edging of the bench top then raised herself off the floor. At the next commercial break Robert would want his dinner. She took a can of beer from the fridge and placed it and a glass on Robert’s special serving tray. The same one his mother had served his father’s on. Robert liked a beer. He didn’t drink a great deal, certainly not a boozer, but always a beer with his dinner.
Ruth spied the cat’s bowl in the corner. She picked it up. With spatula in hand she began scooping the lasagne riddled with slivers of glass, off the floor. After all, Wednesday was lasagne night and it wouldn’t do if Robert didn’t get his lasagne. The bowl filled, Ruth placed it on the tray. As an after thought, she picked up the can of beer and shook it for a few moments. A girlish giggle bubbles in her throat. The thought of beer spraying over Robert when he opened the can drove her to the brink of hysteria. She fought to control herself. It might warn Robert something was amiss and that wouldn’t do.
Dusting off her skirt, she noticed her pantyhose had torn. She pulled them off and dropped them to the floor. Robert didn’t like snags. A loose thread on a blouse or jumper made him most unhappy. She had shaved her legs every morning. But her pale skin could never hold a tan and Robert did not like lily white bodies. He made her cover up before she came to bed. Robert had funny ways. She would have put on another pair of pantyhose but didn’t have time. She could hear the broadcaster announce the ad break.
Ruth picked up the tray and walked towards the lounge.