Yesterday, the mister and I celebrated seventeen years of marriage (let’s say that you can define ‘celebrate’ as went to Al Wahda Mall, had Thai Express then went to Magrudy’s to buy one book by Garrison Keillor and yet another big.fat.densely.typed book on the history of communism which will fall on your face and hurt your nose as you struggle through it each night).

‘You know,’ I said to the mister after he had returned from his late night trip to collect his washed and ironed shirts from the laundromat and a few sweet treats from the Lebanese sweetshop across the road, ‘if our marriage were a child it would be doing year 12 this year.’

The mister was turning his laptop on as he had important work on spreadsheets to be done and, as it clunked into action, he asked, ‘Green tea or peppermint?’