The Domestic Manual

Two colleagues in Gail’s cafe in Chiswick: a young besuited man in his late twenties, and an older woman in her late 40s who seems grateful to be hanging out with him.

Man: It’s the way that you do things, not what you do…the ironing, the cooking… I reckon if you wrote it down, I reckon you’d have a cute little domestic manual.
Woman: You know, it’s so boring.
Man: No it’s not boring; it’s interesting. It’s the kind of thing that could be built up into a character in a film.
Woman: But it’s a sad, sad person, a sad person.
Man: Nooooo!  Once I wrote down all the different tricks I could do with a football: skills with a ball on the floor, in the air, how I flick it up with one side of the foot and then the other.  It’s a little library of tricks in case I ever forget I could do it.
It’s ways of being for people.  There’s a thing about something being old fashioned but traditional, and then there’s things that are unique.  I don’t think that things you do are any kind of traditional at all.  I think they could be trends. 
Woman: (with guilty pleasure) I iron my sheets.

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