Slapping the alarm clock into silence, Lenny Fisher heaved himself out of bed and padded barefoot to the kitchen—only to freeze in shock. There, perched on a rickety dining chair with one slender leg crossed over the other, sat Angelica. She wore nothing but a frilly lace apron. The sight was so startling that Lenny squeezed his eyes shut.
“Sweetheart, you’re awake!” Angelica fluttered off the chair like a butterfly and flung her arms around his neck. “I made breakfast!”
“Did you?” He eyed the fibrous lump on his plate. “What is it?”
“Steamed broccoli, silly!”
Lenny had never eaten steamed broccoli. His breakfasts usually involved something far simpler.
“Maybe just a dab of ketchup?” he ventured, staring at the bland, colourless heap.
But when Angelica’s perfect brows knitted together, he backtracked instantly.
“Of course, darling! No ketchup!”
As he chewed, Lenny wondered, *Why me?* But the thought wasn’t about the broccoli—it was about the goddess lounging in his shabby kitchen. *This nymph… this dream… mine!*
***
Lenny first saw Angelica in the theatre where he’d worked as a lighting technician for thirty years. One evening, while fixing a spotlight, he aimed a test beam at the stage—and there she was. Ethereal, delicate, unforgettable. From that moment, he was smitten.
Not that Lenny was the type to chase skirts. Odd, really, for a man surrounded by actors and dancers, but he was known as decent, reliable. Maybe that’s why fate had blessed him with Angelica.
***
After a hasty shave, Lenny dressed for work.
“Could you iron my shirt, love?” he asked timidly.
But his divine nymph was absorbed in her phone.
“Do it yourself, poppet,” she purred, not looking up.
“Fine, I will.”
Since he had no idea where the iron was, he smoothed the shirt with damp hands—a man’s solution. Grabbing his toolbox, he pecked Angelica (now draped over the sofa) and dashed off.
Only on the bus did he realise something was missing. No sandwiches wrapped in foil, no lukewarm sausages in a tub. *Ah well, I’ll grab something at the canteen.*
***
*”Babe, send me fifty quid. Nail appointment today!”*
Lenny frowned. Since when did nails cost so much? But he wouldn’t disappoint her. *I’ll borrow from Dave if needed.* He tapped *Send* without hesitation. Beauty demanded sacrifice.
Thirty minutes before clocking off, another message arrived:
*”Pick up avocado and oat milk on your way home! Mwah!”*
Lenny only recognised *milk*. He wandered supermarket aisles, baffled, before finally asking a shop assistant.
“How many avocados?” she asked, already striding toward the vegan section.
Lenny hesitated. “Uh… two, please?”
At checkout, his heart sank. Dave’s help was unavoidable now. Lenny, ever generous, had lent many times—but never borrowed. *First time for everything*, he consoled himself, trudging home with the exotic haul. *For her, it’s worth it.*
Angelica greeted him in a sheer silk robe, smelling of jasmine.
“Lenny, I missed you!” she chirped as he stuffed the fridge.
“What’s for dinner, my joy?” he asked, stomach growling.
“Dinner’s here!” she trilled—just as the intercom buzzed.
“Be a darling, fetch the delivery and pay the driver!”
*What costs this much and weighs nothing?* Lenny wondered, panting up the stairs. The flimsy box felt lighter than a tyre.
“What is it?” he asked, peering at neat rows of unfamiliar food dotted with green paste.
“Don’t you know? Sushi!” Angelica beamed. At his blank stare, she explained, “It’s Japanese—tuna, crab, octopus! You eat it with wasabi and soy sauce!”
Lenny hated it. The only upside? Angelica devoured most of it. Once she flitted off to bed, he checked the fridge for a leftover roast. Nothing. Defeated, he slunk to bed.
***
Next morning, no breakfast awaited. Angelica slept soundly, golden hair fanned over the pillow.
“Love, leave me eighty quid,” she mumbled. “I’ve a waxing today.”
Lenny nearly protested—until he recalled his ignorance of the word *waxing*. *Might be medical.* Guilt flooded him.
“Of course, darling!”
In the kitchen, he poured oat milk, scavenged stale bread, and eyed the avocado. Was it eaten raw? Fried? He gave up.
“Leaving already?” Angelica yawned, scrolling Instagram.
“Yes,” he said, hiding his irritation. “When do you start work?”
She gaped. “Work? Don’t be daft! I’m your *wife* now. When I was single, I *had* to work. But you’re the provider—your job is to hunt the mammoth. *Mine* is to inspire you!”
***
Lenny returned home exhausted. The kitchen offered only a wilting avocado. In the bedroom, Angelica glittered like a disco ball, applying eyeliner.
“Back? Quick, change! We’re clubbing—Argentinian DJ tonight!”
“I’m knackered,” Lenny groaned. “I’ve barely eaten in days.”
Angelica’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re *refusing*?”
“Not tonight.”
“Is this how you treat me? Lock me up, turn me into a drudge? I’m *withering* here!”
Lenny retreated, but she pursued, shrieking.
“You’ve ruined my life! I’ll *starve* on your wretched avocado!” She snatched it and shook it in his face.
He snapped. “*My* avocado? *You* asked for it!”
“Oh, now it’s about *money*?” she wailed. “After all I’ve sacrificed? Here—*choke* on it!”
The avocado struck his face—
He woke up.
***
The rickety coach spat Val Fisher onto the station platform. Lugging bags of homegrown veg, she blinked as Lenny barrelled toward her, arms full of roses.
“Val, my love! I missed you!” he cried, kissing her cheek.
“Have you gone mad?” she stammered, accepting the bouquet.
“Just grateful,” Lenny said, taking her bags. “You’re the best wife alive.”
Val melted. She didn’t know he’d spent his savings on those flowers—but no matter.
At home, she plonked them in a plastic bucket (no vase being handy) and wiped her hands.
“I’ll fry up potatoes with fresh cucumbers. This year’s crop is lovely!”
“Absolutely,” Lenny agreed, admiring the earthy, dew-kissed produce.
*He’s lost it*, Val mused, watching him kiss a cucumber.
But for Lenny, the lesson was clear: *Better a simple love, nourished by the earth, than a gilded dream that starves you.*
