As usual, the room was crowded with adolescent bodies and I couldn't remember the last time I had been able to sit comfortably and watch a programme or DVD of my choice without interruption.
“Look on the bright side,” my husband commented cheerfully. “It won’t be long before she’s old enough to baby sit and we can go out.”
“Out? You mean in the dark, as in night time?”
“Sure, why not? Like we used to B.C.”
Anxiety crept down my spine and legs and nestled into the depths of my furry slippers. The mug of tea I was holding tilted slightly slurping a few drops onto the oatmeal carpet.
“Where would we go?” what would I wear? I enquired hesitantly, gazing through our small window like an astronaut peering into space. “All the places we used to go are closed down now. It’s a young person’s game to be out on the town these days you know.”
His eyes shone with nostalgic anticipation.
A vision of the earth loomed before me like a giant suspended home made ball. Each city made up of different coloured glitter sparkling with luminous energy. On closer inspection, colonies of young people dressed skimpily, clattered over the cobbles beneath husky yellow street lamps; their laughter and conversation lost in burbling, alien language.
I’d seen enough.
Unable to spot a safe place to land I guided our ship expertly away from the atmosphere back into outer space.
“What are you doing, I thought we were going out?”
“We’ll buy a bigger sofa.” I mumbled picking up a book. “Put the kettle on while you’re up would you.”