Storm in a B Cup - A Breast Cancer Tale by Lindy Dale Read Free Book Online

me towards the front
door.
    “But…”
    It’s pointless
arguing. Within seconds he has me buckled into the passenger side of the
Mercedes.
    As we zoom
up the freeway to Osborne Park — breaking a number of speed limits and
traffic laws in the process — I turn to him and ask, “Is there any need
to drive quite this fast? I’d like to make it to my thirtieth birthday if
possible.”
    “Don’t be
sarcastic, Sophie,” he says, but he slows the pace to one where I can actually
make out the shapes of the trees as we whizz by.
    “Why the
sudden urge to buy a TV, anyway?” I question him.
    “Digital TV has
been phased in for ages now. We need to upgrade for better viewing quality.” He
says this as if digital TV is akin to the zombie apocalypse and we’re getting
our bunker organised. I don’t like to mention that he rarely watches TV. He
detests most TV apart from the sport show and the one where people buy storage
containers at auction, then spend the rest of the show lamenting that they’re
filled with rubbish and worth completely nothing.
    “But we
don’t have to have a new TV today. The old one works perfectly well with the
set top box you hooked up to it.”
    “Well, I
want one and if I want to spend some of the money I work so bloody hard to earn
on a new TV, I will.”
    His eyes
haven’t left the road but I’m getting the message. This is not about TVs. This
is about retail therapy. Man style.
    “Fair
enough.”
    We arrive at
the car park of the furniture and electrical megastore. They appear to be
having some type of end-of-something sale and while Brendan is perusing the
bargains strung above us on huge balloons, an elderly lady in a smart car pulls
into the one and only vacant spot in the place, totally disregarding that Brendan
had his indicator on to turn into it himself. A string of expletives fly in her
direction, which I’m fairly positive she can’t hear. Smart cars probably have
smart soundproof windows, too.
    “Holy fuck,”
he mutters, his palm slapping the steering wheel in frustration.
    “How about
if I park the car and you go inside?” I suggest.
    “Are you
sure?”
    “Yep. I’ll
meet you in the TV department.” Heaven forbid, those swanky, high definition,
3D, wifi, internet ready TVs might be sold before he gets there if I don’t.
    Brendan
smiles and leans over to kiss my cheek. “Thanks, babe. You’re an angel.”
    As I arrive
at his side, having safely navigated the car into a now empty spot next to the
smart car lady, I discover it was a mistake leaving Brendan alone for ten
minutes in the shop we call ‘man heaven’. Brendan has decided a new TV, with
remote swivel function so it can be seen from anywhere in the room, is not the
only electrical item we need. Apparently, we also need a new computer with
retina display, a DVD recorder, a set of waterproof speakers for listening to
music in the spa and a remote control helicopter that can be controlled via the
bluetooth on one’s phone. I don’t need to ask if that’s a gift for Rory. I know
it’s not.
    “So you
chose a TV?” I ask, thinking he may have forgotten his original intention.
    “Yep. One of
those ones that’s like a computer. You can surf the net on it.”
    Of course. I
don’t dare remind him he bought a new Mac for surfing the net.
    Brendan
hands his credit card to the salesperson. He’s even managed to negotiate a bargain
price before my arrival so I can only hazard a guess at how much this short
shopping trip has cost.
    “What?” he
says, obviously noticing my dismay when I see the total on the screen.
    “Nothing.
Are you positive we need this stuff?”
    Again, I get the look , the one that says I’m a
raving lunatic for considering such a possibility.
    “Will we be
home in an hour?” he asks, ignoring my question.
    “Yes.”
    “Good, the
delivery van is arriving in an hour.”
    For once I
don’t need to look surprised. Of course, delivery is essential. There’s no way
we can fit his