The first conversation in the attached story is verbatim as I recall it, the rest of the story is pure fiction. I have changed the names to protect the innocent and guilty alike.Shopping’s a chore I abhor, so only I accompany my wife Penny when my work shifts allow. Although we drive for a monthly stock-up at the out of town hypermarket across the county line, and a weekly trolley-ful shop at the local supermarket, Penny walks down to the local supermarket every afternoon after work for bread, milk and fresh produce.On one particular day, while carrying the hand basket for Penny, I noticed a well-dressed but matronly figured woman shopping almost exclusively for booze. Well that’s all her trolley contained, bottles of spirits, other than a bag of dog biscuits. I guess her age was mid-fifties to late-fifties, about thirty years older than us. Her hair was clearly coloured to disguise her grey hair and had that odd blue tinge to it that older woman seem to go for. What caught my eye. ” she agreed, and repeated, “So am I.” Standing up straight, she instructed me to be ready at seven, showered and dressed.“What do you want me to wear?” I asked, knowing I only had a maintenance uniform or a prison jump suit.“The maintenance uniform and make sure to keep your mouth shut about being incarcerated here.” she replied, looking at the tray I was handing back to her, “Do eat your pudding, desert is one of the only treats you will find here.”I pulled the tray back reluctantly, remembering the tainted batch I had the last time I ate it. Thinking that if it were such a treat, then aren’t I the lucky one having it twice it one week. But I really didn’t think the warden would spike it so, plastic spoon in hand, I gobbled it down. Squeezing the last of the juice into my mouth, I dropped the empty container on the tray and handed it back.“Good man.” she cheered, bringing back her smile. “Now take your shower early, I’ll be back for our little party.” she cooed, taking the tray from.
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