She was scrambling his eggs and his mind with talk of astrophysics and quantum theory. He sat at the table in his t-shirt, jocks and socks, smoking a rolly. He wondered if his head would be thumping this much if he hadn’t finished the scotch last night. And the vodka. Shit. She stood at the stove in her kimono dressing gown and chattered. He wondered how she was taken seriously at university. Could anyone take such clearly intelligent discourse serious when many of her sentences ended in a giggle, sometimes a serious of “like, you know”s and lately, and distressingly, LOL. Spoken as a word. “LOL”
But, someone must take her seriously – she was the one with the doctorate, and she was the one leaving tomorrow for Oxford. He shut his eyes and did the mental calculations again. Eight more weeks in his crappy call centre job and he’d have the money to join her. Could a long-distance relationship last for eight weeks? He sighed. He doubted it.