Three years of staring at the same person across the breakfast table, and the bloom is officially off the rose.
This morning, Joey's head was hovering over his cereal as he shovelled in his third bowl-ful of Cheerios.
In other words, not the time for small talk. But Clara always tries.
"Joey, do you like my piggy tails??"
Joey emitted a long-suffering sigh, rolled his eyes, and said, "Clara, you ALWAYS ask me if I like your piggy tails, and I ALWAYS say yes!"
I think tomorrow morning he needs a newspaper to hide behind.
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