The Wrong Marmalade

Me: Why are you two looking at me like that?

Nell: Did you order the wrong marmalade?

Me: I don’t know what you’re talking about?

Nell: It was you, wasn’t it?

Me: No.

Nell: If you admit it now it will be better for you in the long run.

Me: I don’t even eat marmalade, Nell. I’m allergic to oranges.

Nell: Exactly.

Me: What do you mean?

Nell: It’s lime marmalade.

Me: Unusual.

Nell: Nobody likes it. You know that.

Me: I don’t, actually.

Nell: So, why order 12 jars?

Me: It wasn’t me.

Nell: Poppy is not amused.

Me: I bet she isn’t.

Nell: You’re going to have to eat on your own. It’s lime marmalade until Christmas for you my friend.

Me: I don’t even like it.

Nell: You should have thought of that before you ordered it.

Me: This isn’t fair, Nell. Anyone could have ordered it.

Nell: Why would we? We all like oranges.

Me: Was the marmalade addressed to me?

Nell: You’re far too clever for that.

Me: Am I?

Nell: Barks and Spencer sent it to me.

Me: They don’t usually deliver here.

Nell: Exceptions can be made.

Me: Maybe we can send it back.

Nell: Do you have the receipt?

Me: Of course not. I didn’t order it.

Nell: Who did then? Is anyone else allergic to oranges?

Me: They could just like limes.

Nell: I suppose David might eat it if it’s spread on toast with lots of butter.

Me: Have you heard from him yet?

Nell: A postcard arrived from Dartmoor this morning saying they were having a lovely time and will be home soon.

Me: A postcard? Isn’t that a bit odd?

Nell: Says the person who sent me 12 jars of lime marmalade.

Me: It wasn’t me, Nell. Sorry.

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