Her mouth pursed by a scaffolding of deep set wrinkles she looked on in wide-eyed stupefaction as I spooned another helping of warm sticky porridge into my mouth. Her attempt at subtle reprobation was upset every so often by a wet cluck. This was followed by a rapid upwards and sidewards shift of her head as her neck muscles sprang her cranium as far from the offensive breakfast material as possible. Her well-brushed hair tickled the portal to the fourth dimension.
Gently unnnerved by the disruption of the morning sacrament, I struck up conversationm keen to ease the strain on the gently vibrating scaffolding. « How long has he been here? What an accent! » The spotless nightdown ruffled every so slightly as the head sprung back on its hinge. « It’s normal… » my better half piped up before being cut off by a flash of adorned digits. « He’s not making an effort, » the scaffolding croaked.
I dug deep into my porridge, unearthing a hemispherical hunk of moulded oats before crucnhing on a slice of apple. The scaffolding fell back into place.