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‘Why haven’t you done that one?’
A husbandly thumb jabs at one of the cryptic crossword clues.
‘Simple.  Because I don’t know the answer.’
I take a bite of my granary roll. We’re having a snack lunch and passing the paper back and forth. I’ve craftily done the easy ones before giving up and handing it over.
‘Oh, come on…this is designed for you.  Think about it:  Being biased, booked with pride.’  The paper is waved under my nose. I rack my feeble brain, but inspiration won’t come.         ‘You do it, if you’re so clever.’  Embarrassing, having one’s stupidity pointed out by one’s other half.                                                                                                                         There’s an exasperated huff from across the table.  ‘And your favourite book is?? Tell me??’    

Red face.  ‘Oh, of course. Now I get the answer. Prejudice.’ 

 

 

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