The interrogation room was gloomy and chilly. They do that on purpose, you know, to make you extra scared, and trust me, I was plenty scared. It felt like I’d been sitting there waiting for hours, wondering the whole time what they would ask of me.
Just as I went though possible scenario #2158 the door opened, and the Galumph strode in. Not even bothering to take a seat, he slammed the evidence – oh, that blasted incriminating evidence! – on the table, and snarled “I thought this was meant to be the age of austerity, lady. What do you have to say for yourself?”
I gazed hopelessly at the vintage patterns lying on the table, and tried in vain to trammel my scattered thoughts. “Well…” I stuttered, “I figured that I would be recycling, and that’s good, right, and I could do Wardrobe Refashion, and make everything and not buy anything new while we pay off the mortgage…”
“Aha!” the Galumph sneered triumphantly. “Finally she remembers the mortgage! But not before these bloody vintage patterns were purchased, judging by the date on the envelope. In the future, could we perhaps not only remember the mortgage but also the double glazing costs and our ginormous relocation telephone bill before making random internet purchases?”
“Yes, my love” I said, then with a surge of confidence said “Will I be forgiven if make some of your favourite chocolate raspberry muffins?”
“How about you just make up some of these patterns so I can see my wife in those cute dresses?” said the Galumph, his anger replaced by a saucy wink.
“Not a problem!” I replied with joy. “I just bought some fabric that would look fabul-uh oh!”
“Lost cause”, said the Galumph shaking his head sadly. “Totally a lost cause.”