in with my theory. âIt was just a touch of that old anti-American spirit coming to the surface. âYankee go home!â and all that stuff.â
âBut how could they know I was American? They were too far away to hear my accent.â
âArnold, you look American. Itâs written all over you. You might as well go around wearing a star-spangled shirt and whistling Yankee Doodle Dandy. Youâd even look hopelessly American in a Savile Row suit.â
âYou think so?â Arnold looked into space pensively. âIâve got to admit it, honey ââ He paused and took a deep breath for the confession. âIâd really love to go home wearing a Savile Row suit.â
âIf you do,â I warned, âIâm buying a Jean Muir dress.â
Arnold brightened perceptibly. âItâs a deal, Babe!â
With Arnold hanging around the house all day, the week took on a different shape. Also, we had the car back, which was a great help. I had to do all the driving but Arnold, once he had painfully settled himself into the passenger seat, seemed perfectly happy there. Too happy â he went everywhere with me.
Of course, that immediately doubled the grocery bills. Arnold is unsafe at any speed in a supermarket. Let me turn my back for one second and he loaded the shopping trolley with enough extras to provision an army.
He was as bad as the twins and they all had the same sneaky trick: they buried their stuff under the things I was buying so that I didnât know what theyâd done until Iâd reached the checkout cashier and it was too late.
âOkay, you guys ââ I whirled on my brood as the cashierâs hand unearthed yet another surprise packet. âWho the hell put in those pickled eggs?â As though I didnât know.
âI thought they might make an interesting cocktail nibble, honey,â Arnold owned up. Behind him, there was a surreptitious giggle and I turned back to the cashier in time to see her tapping the cash register for half a dozen chocolate bars and a big cake.
âOkay,â I said darkly, âbut Iâm confiscating those and only handing them out when you deserve them.â
Another little giggle answered this threat. Arnold was smirking suspiciously, too. What else had they done?
I soon found out. I took one look at the next item the cashier tossed on to the counter and almost fainted. The giggles rose to a crescendo. I swallowed hard and lost my temper.
âDonât you dare ring that up!â I thundered at the cashier. Her fingers froze over the cash register.
âI suppose you think thatâs funny!â I rounded on Arnold and the kids.
They did. They thought it was the funniest thing theyâd seen since Errol tangled with a skunk at home and weâd had to spend half a day with clothes pegs over our noses bathing the furious cat in tomato juice.
âAnd you -!â The cashier had begun to snicker, too. âI think thatâs revolting! I donât know how you can sell such a thing. Itâs obscene!â
âItâs a very popular item,â the girl sniffed. âParticularly among our older customers. They like to make their own brawn.â
âAll brawn and no brains,â Arnold muttered. He still thought it was hilarious.
I didnât. Iâd seen that ... that ... thing ... in the meat compartment and shrunk away in unbelieving horror. And one of my loving family had caught the motion and picked up the item and buried it at the bottom of my shopping trolley â doubtless hoping to send me off my trolley, and damn near succeeding.
It was a pigâs head. To be precise â and even more disgusting â a pigâs head split in two. It was neatly laid out in a large tray; one half was cloven side up, displaying veins, brains, gristle and all manner of horrifying inner workings; the other half was perhaps worse, it was the head in profile, one
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