1200 words Women's Fiction

Erin's husband Steve is like a carrier bag. A bit dull, but useful if he ever managed to be in the right place at the right time. Xavier was in the right place and not dull at all.

Erin stomped her way round the supermarket. Nothing was going right; her wrist hurt like crazy, the trolley only had three good wheels and she'd forgotten to bring a bag for life with her. Again. Those things were a bit like men Erin thought. A good idea in theory and sometimes a good idea in practice, but often not where you wanted them to be. Steve should be here helping. He'd offered in a half-hearted way yesterday. He hadn't offered again this morning before they'd both left for work; Steve driving the car, Erin catching the bus. She'd just have to fight through the pain of her sprained wrist and gather a few essentials for their breakfast tomorrow. She headed for the bread aisle.

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