I’m thinking about how to write this as I’m hanging out our laundry. Your cat Poppy is eyeing the bra straps to paw down the minute I’m out of sight. When you get home, we’ll probably share some joke about how we’ve raised Poppy to be a lesbian; how could we not? Our crappy Kmart kettle is whirring, because you messaged to say you’d be home soon. We’ll both be home for once, so we can gossip, have an afternoon pot of tea and play rich married ladies – but not married to each other, obviously.
