Would you believe he'd never eaten spaghetti when I met him - except the kind that comes out of a tin. His mum was an old-fashioned Yorkshire meat-and-two-veg kind of person. Sunday tea was Battenburg cake, scones, fruitcake and bread and butter. All the vegetables were home grown. It wasn't a bad diet, just traditional.

Last time we were at my mum's he told her he'd come to like her lasagne so much that he'd want it for his wedding breakfast. My mum looked at me like she expected an announcement, but I just shrugged. He hasn't talked about our future at all.

"Shopping List" A short hyperfiction
©2002 Helen Whitehead
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