The trouble between me and Doreen started when she took up fortune-telling.

At first, it was in a small way, grabbing my tea-cup after Id finished drinking and poring over the pattern of the leaves Id left. Buying tea-bags didnt seen to deter her, because she then resorted to examining the way the sheets and blankets were crumpled when I didnt make the bed after getting up.

However careful one is with the days activities, one cannot help but leave residual evidence. And then the darn woman would attempt to read it. I did become more domesticated as a result but, even so, for example, when I drew the curtains, the consequent hang of the pleats was always different, if only slightly. The crumbs I dropped on the carpet during my supper were difficult to sweep up with the Ewbank. Doreen often discovered a speck of something in the deep pile the next morning.

Above all, I needed to keep the toilet bowl spotless, despite the tummy trouble which I currently suffered. The annoying thing was that the tummy trouble itself had been predicted by Doreen in the first place, after she examined my used breekfast plate one morning, her fortune-telling ability supplemented somewhat by sniffs of the hardened egg-yolk smears.

Finally, at the end of my marital tether, I filed for divorce on the grounds of future cruelty. Upon my attempting to forewarn her, Doreen simply shrugged and said shed seen it in her stars (and mine) that we would stay married and live together forever. And there was no Ewbank capable of sweeping up the stars, was there? Nor, to my mind, any use in scrying over spilt milk.

First published in THE WEIRDMONGER'S TALES (Wyrd Press) 1994