Strange Conversations: Part Forty-Two

A couple of days ago, I had to do a brisk clean-out of the pantry in the search for a squeezy container of honey that both Nick and I are sure we bought recently. (We didn’t find it.)

I threw a number of things out but I was simultaneously holding a phone conversation with my Mam about books she’d bought on my advice for my brother’s birthday—Glen Cook and Steven Brust—so I wasn’t paying attention when I handed Nick a packet of lavash crisps we’d opened two months ago.

He dropped them.

These things happen.

He then swept them out the back door onto the grass.

I wasn’t so impressed by this.

But I’ve just been sitting on the back steps in the rain having a cigarette:

ME: One good thing: all that rain has completely dissolved those lavash crisps.
NICK: That’s good.
ME: That can’t have been your intention when you swept them out there.
NICK: Waiting for rain is one of my standard contingency plans.
ME: You couldn’t have forseen the rain we had yesterday.
NICK: Forseen? No. Hoped? Yes.

Mind, this is the man who dealt with a forgotten (long forgotten—oh, the horror!) container of silken tofu that we found at the back of the fridge by, surprisingly, throwing it onto the back lawn—and we didn’t even have rain that time.