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The Diagnosis

September 8th, 2011 by admin

“Is it going okay? Being pregnant?” Wazzer eyes her friend Winona, curious for her to show signs of the state that Wazzer herself has carefully avoided all her life.

Winona’s not showing anything but glowing happiness so far. “This time around, it’s marvellous. Will’s keeping the smoothies coming, and he’s not allowing me to lift anything bigger than a breadbox. No more carrying groceries home!  Plus, I say whatever I like and blame it on hormones.”

“Wazzer, I’m busy, can’t it wait a minute?” Willow is at the stove in the small galley kitchen, food thermometer in one hand, spoon in the other, painstakingly replicating the scrambled eggs from Bill’s in Sydney, as a brunch treat for Winona.

“All I want is the kettle. I’ve been waiting twenty minutes for a cuppa – ”

“Stop it! You two,” Winona declares, “get along everywhere but when I see you here. It’s a clear case of flatmate burnout.”

“Flatmate burnout?” Willow parrots.

“Flatmate burnout! Wazzer, how many flatmates have you had?”

“Too many.”

Winona throws up a hand. “And you, Willow?”

“None since university. But – I like you, Wazzer, I don’t mean to be cross -”

“I’ve known you since uni and you never really liked flatting. You need to do something if you still want to be friends.”

Wazzer and Willow exchange a look.

Winona goes on. “So here’s what we do. Willow, you go down to Oumaru, live happily ever after, and rent us this place. I know what you’re paying for the mortgage and rents have gone up so much that we could cover it. And Wazzer, you move into our flat.”

“I think I speak for both of us when I say that the only reason we aren’t killing you is that you’re right. And bloody brilliant. And preggers,” says Wazzer.

Winona beams. “I know! It’s marvellous!

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