Ironing

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‘What do you mean “where is my shirt”?  It is probably where you left it, in the washing basket.’
‘So why didn’t you put the washing machine on?’
Angus and Claire glare at each other, like two animals measuring up the opponent.  Neither is going to give.
‘Can you please tell me when I am supposed to do that?  I am working fulltime, just like you.  In fact, you were off yesterday afternoon.  You could have done it yourself, being the technological whizz-kid you are.  Don’t look at me like that, I am not being sarcastic.  Why am I the one sorting all the washing and ironing?’
Angus backs off a little.
 ‘Listen, Claire, perhaps we should get a help in.  After all, we  earn enough to afford it.’
‘That’s the most sensible idea I’ve heard in a long time, Angus.  But it still wouldn’t hurt you to put the washing machine on yourself, once or twice in a blue moon.’
‘Do you really have to work so many -?’
‘Get off you high horse, Angus.  If I want this promotion, I have to put in the hours.  You know that, you’ve been there.’
Claire grabs the dirty shirts.
‘In fact, tonight –‘
‘Oh, your “staying over” excuse again.  Heard that before.’

‘Not my fault that the managing director likes me there when he is entertaining the Chinese.’
‘Entertaining the Chinese…,’
‘For God’s sake, Angus.  What are you trying to say?’
‘Just wondering, that’s all.  Whether it is only the Chinese you’re entertaining.’
Claire drops the shirts.
‘You know what?  Wash your own bloody shirts.  I’ve had enough.  See you on Friday.  Or not, maybe.’ 

As soon as she is out of the door, Angus is on the phone.
‘Coast’s clear tonight, love.  See you soon.’

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