A man enters the cottage weary from a days honest labour. He greets his beautiful and oh so patient wife, says hello to the dogs and as he tells of the days toil opens the fridge. A promise of a chili con carne for dinner a few hours before has yet to be delivered and with his stomach rumbling his eyes fall on the ceramic white bowl of freshly cooked mince.
Picture a man happily recounting the day from the kitchen, racing spoon in hand sampling the mince while he pours a well deserved ginger beer. Finally thirst slated, hunger temporarily quelled picture a happy man sat with his dogs while he reads his magazine and waits for dinner.
Picture the same man an hour later when his beautiful and oh so patient wife suddenly tells him that if he goes to the fridge not to eat the mince. Picture the man thinking, shall he confess to having already eaten a large portion of the chili ingredients, but instead has the presence of mind to enquire why not eat the mince. Its the dogs mince. Picture his face as he asks why feed the dogs mince, I mean Jesus, lets just stick money in their mouths.
Picture his expression of horror as his beautiful and oh so patient wife explains very slowly that the mince is the dogs mince, from the blue bag in the freezer, the one marked unfit for human consumption.
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