“I’m not showing up with a Co-Op wine.”

“They won’t know it’s a Co-Op wine,” he replied. He was frustrated and trailed sadly in her wake.

“I won’t have it,” she insisted.

“Why?” he said, following her into the Co-Op like a weathered dog.

“I wouldn’t be seen dead with a Co-Op wine.”

“That makes no sense,” he said. “We’re in the Co-Op.”

“Yes, John, we are in the Co-Op. Well done on the astute observation.” She started clapping in that sardonic way that made him feel like a felled tree or a recently deceased tuna fish.

“I wish you wouldn’t talk to me like that.”

“Oh, fuck off John you overgrown baby.” Then she turned around and grabbed a Cadbury Milk Tray from the chocolate shelf.

“You’re happy to show up with a Milk Tray, are you?” He said, sensing an opportunity to gain ground in the twenty-two-year-long war that had been their marriage.

“Everyone likes a Milk Tray,” she said.

“Exactly,” he said.

“Exactly what?” She shot back.

“Everyone likes a Milk Tray. It’s a pauper’s indulgence. You’re happy with that mass produced corporate trash, and yet you refuse to show up with a Co-Op wine? The Co-Op is ethical.”

“John, you’re making no sense. Co-Op wine is swill.”

“Didn’t I tell you about double-blind tests when it comes to wine? No one can tell the-“

“Double blind? Double blind mice! Let me remind you that it’s only you who cares that you went to university, John. The rest of us are living in the real world.”

John’s face turned red. It betrayed embarrassment, not only because half the store was now listening in, but because any threat to his academic mind tapped into a deep-seated animalistic insecurity about the social standing of his intellect. He’d been trying to prove that he was a genius ever since turning five, and everyone but his mother was yet to buy it.

“John!” Snapped his wife. “You’re doing that thing again where you stand still and turn very red. You’re embarrassing yourself and you’re embarrassing me.”

John snatched a bottle of Co-Op wine from the nearest shelf and smacked himself over the head with it. It smashed into a million pieces and the red liquor poured down his face. In that moment, he had a Jesus-like quality about him.

His wife was a little shaken, but her ability to appear indifferent had been honed over the course of many arguments.

“You win,” he said. “We’ll stop at Waitrose on the way.”

“Now you’re starting to make sense,” she replied.