Whether or not a takeaway is considered a gluttonous waste of money or a nice treat wholly depends on whether a husband or wife suggests it.
Simon Williams is happy. He had a takeaway curry last night. He was allowed to have a take away because his wife Karen said, “Can you be bothered to cook? Cos I can’t. Let’s get a takeaway.”
He didn’t stop to question why Karen had said this – maybe she’d been unfaithful and was being nice to him, maybe she was running low on plastic takeaway cartons – he just seized the moment.
“Great idea! Chinese or Indian?” came Simon’s enthusiastic reply.
A single phone call and an hour later Simon’s tummy was gloriously full of calorific, oily, creamy and delicious food cooked by somebody else. Which is always the best sort of food.
Last week, however, Simon was unhappy. He asked pretty much the same question to Karen – “Fancy a takeaway?”
Her response was “Don’t be so fucking lazy. There’s fish in the fridge – just stick it in the oven for God’s sake. And what makes you think we have spare cash to waste on unhealthy food?”
“Of course,” said Simon, “I could have thrown all these arguments back at her last night. But the thing is I really wanted a takeaway – I always do. It’s not as if I’m going to refuse to have one on the rare occasion my wife also fancies getting one.
“I suppose it’s very much like sex in that respect.”