Through gritted teeth

So we were on our way to dad’s and stopped off at Membury to get some dinner. I am ashamed to say it was Burglar King but there you are. Everyone’s principles slip now and again.

Standing in line I had leisure to observe the woman serving. About 5′7″, brown hair and a peaked cap which obscured her upper face. All you could see of her was her chin.

As I got closer I felt sure she would smile or at least speak to her customers but no. Then I realised she was speaking but that her teeth were clenched together.  She really projected strongly that she would rather be anywhere but there.

As I waited to order I wondered what made her so. The best I could come up with was that her husband had lost all their money, gambling at Walthamstow Dogs, and she was forced to come out of retirement and sling burgers to  pay the rent.

By the time I reached the counter I was grinning a little at my silly storymaking and she looked up from under her hat to see me smiling at her. I got a look of pure loathing and a hissed, ‘ yesssss??’ as a response. Perhaps my imaginings weren’t so far wide of the mark.