Dishy Dave

Dave stood in the kitchen
which was light
with fitted cabinets
and a flagstone floor.
We'll have to get rid of those
he thought,
looking at the grimy dishes stacked up by the sink
the wine glasses stained with crimson
and the coffee-encrusted mug towers.

As Dave stood in the kitchen
he wondered what he could cook
that would make him seem most normal.
An average guy.
A family man.
I'll have to mention the wife
he thought.
And the baby
he added.
And wear trainers.

Pasta?
he wondered.

Dave stood in the kitchen - hands on hips.
Authoritarian.
He wouldn't be cooking it himself
of course
but that wasn't the point.
How like politics this was all turning out to be!

Dave decided to apply some tactical thinking to the situation.
He found his wife's Italian cookbook
buried under the signing-in books of the kitchen staff
and picked a page.
There
he thought.
That'll do.

A month later, Dave was sent a complementary copy of the Sainsbury's food magazine.
Dishy Dads!
it shouted from the brightly-coloured front cover.
The country's busiest dads share their favourite recipes!
"The photo came out well"
said Samantha,
"The kitchen looks lovely."
"Mmm" agreed Dave, pleased that the editors had managed to pass the dish off as his own.

"Whose trainers are those?"
asked Samantha.