Him: swanning in at 9am (off sleeper) in his clapped-out old convertible still in black tie (boys night out) with just the right amount of stubble ...
Me: in butcher's apron, rubber gloves covered in what may be blood (actually beetroot), clasping small child who has just filled nappy
I just felt put out and under-dressed (or over - whatever)
Where was our weekend nanny so we could go upstairs to shag? I ask you.