My beloved looks at me apologetically. “I’m so sorry,” she says.
“Sorry for what?” I ask, perplexed.
“For being stuck in this house and being unable to go anywhere.”
She’s referring to her caring responsibilities, of course. But I’m even more perplexed.
“Stuck in this house? We’d have to pay £160 per night for a similar experience staying elsewhere. I have no complaints.”
Well, of course, we have a minor complaint, but it’s not the end of the world. We’ll just reschedule for another time.