What had he done? The shrimp was gonna kill him! Shit! What the fuck was he gonna do?! He was a seriously shitty husband! She’d never forgive him, not this time. He groaned as he fell to his knees and pulled despairingly at his own long, raven black hair. What the fuck could he do? Nothing. He’d confess his sins. He could do this. She wouldn’t kill him for honesty, right? If he lied about it, played innocent… He’d be six foot under.
“So, Shrimp, ya know that basket of white washing ya laid out…?” He began practising as he stood up to face the washing machine. “I figured I’d give ya a hand since, ya know, ya’ve had yer hands full with the twins lately… and I noticed my tie still hadn’t been washed yet… So I threw it in too…” He gulped, wiping his brow nervously with a deep orange baby grow. “So all yer whites are pink… including yer favourite bookmark with the bees. And the cream baby grows aren’t cream anymore.”
“Oh really?” His pocketwoman’s voice demanded too sweetly from the doorway.