“Can’t stand garlic,” announced Harry. “I’d tell Delia to shove it if she put it in my food.”
“Me too. I’ve told Christine never to use the stuff.”
Delia looked through the open hatch towards her husband and smiled. She took a second garlic clove, an extra-large one. Carefully, she peeled and crushed it then stirred it into the lasagne.
“And you’ll be shoving garlic – again – where the sun don’t shine, sweetheart,” she whispered as she reached for a third one.