When I came back from working the afternoon Weight Watchers class, I found the house empty. In my ordinary life, Ron would have had a pot of potatoes on the boil and some kind of beef (his preference) on the BBQ. I’d push for a vegetable and maybe a salad and we’d each eat a little of the other’s choice, secretly grateful for our own.

But today, there was silence and me. As women do, I’ve been eating the stuff in the fridge that is close to expiry date or that has been sitting too long. I decided on poached eggs. I like them; Ron didn’t. An egg meal meant I’d cook his scrambled or whatever, first….not because he demanded it , but because that is how women love. We feed others and then ourselves. That meant that my meal tended to be on the cool side. I didn’t notice nor really care..

So I poached up those eggs. They were the best I’d ever eaten. Hot, seasoned perfectly. And I cried, because I’d willingly eat cold eggs forever…if only I could have my Honey here.

Brenda J Wood

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