Bubbles

Blame the bubbles for separating us. As we strolled along Princes Street with the intention of buying bread at M&S (their pecan and cranberry loaf is to die for), His Lordship noticed bubbles being generated in the square outside the RSA Art Gallery.
Being supportive of my constant out sourcing of blips, he suggested I get one for the can, so to speak. Happy to oblige, I crossed Princes Street telling him to stay put (as you might a puppy or child) until I came back.
However, having the inclinations of a puppy or child, he wandered off and could no longer be found on my return. Since his mobile phone was happily ensconced in his sock drawer at home, there was no alternative other than to make my own way home, husbandless and breadless as it happens since M&S didn’t have the loaf I wanted.

It appears that while waiting for me as I blipped, he window shopped and saw a pair of sunglasses that he liked and felt the need to have. Nothing daunted, he went into the shop to buy them but got caught up in a queue and missed my return. He went home wifeless but sporting the 007 look.

As we sit in the sun in our sunglasses we can no longer gaze into each other’s eyes but into our own, reflected in the other’ s dark lenses. Where’s the romance in that?