‘Tea? Coffee?’ She looks at the back of his bent head.

He sighs. Mutters, ‘Anything.’

‘What do you want for lunch? Something on toast? Chicken Broth?’

Rustling his newspaper he replies with irritation,‘Anything.’

Ten minutes later, she sets his tray down on the coffee table before him. ‘Here you are. I’ve brought what you asked for.’

He lets out a gasp of horrified fascination.

‘Well you did say anything,’ she retorts to that anguished sound.

Whimpering, he retrieves the TV remote control from a soup bowl filled with warm soapy water.