Rush hour in our local petrol station. The queues were back to the door. The young lad in the hi-viz vest had just finished paying when he accidently stepped back into a young woman in the line behind him.
‘Oh, sorry love,’ he said with a beaming smile.
But the woman turned into the Antichrist. She rose up to her full 5ft height and started howling like a demented banshee.
‘Don’t you call me love,’ she screeched. ‘How dare you call me love? You don’t know me. I’m not your love. You have no right to call me love. I didn’t go to university for three years to be called love.’
There was a shocked silence. The poor lad was mortified. He just stood there all red in the face with his mouth wide open as she waded into him.
Then an older man in a similar hi-viz vest sauntered over and looked the woman up and down.
‘So what do Cinderella and your other sister call you?’ he asked as he took a bite out of a meat pie the size of a small dog.
It was my turn to be served at the other counter so I missed the finale …