Sunday lunch at the pub: something other people do. The room’s filling up with friends and couples, the jazz band’s yet to arrive.
Kelly tells Wendy and Fiona that I hold the balance of power in our marriage, a fact nobody ever believes.
“It’s true! I run the house. I’m the one who plans what’s for dinner every night.”
“No, I run the household.” says Kelly scornfully. “I’m the only reason you have clean pants.”
“You’re the only reason I need clean pants.” I grumble.
No one’s convinced; it’s not about who wears the trousers, it’s about who washes them.