She stood staring at the fridge, wondering if this was a good sign or a bad omen.
They had been doing this for years, a tradition that was so predictable she often wondered why they still did it but would never dream of giving it up.
She was noughts, he was crosses and whoever won chose the date night, in the event of a tie the last person that won got to choose.
Her husband had always been the winner, he took great pride in thinking up the perfect dates. It had become a running joke that the only way she would ever get to plan a date was if it was with someone else.
She hoped it was just distraction and not a hint.
This was written in response to this week’s Flash Fiction For Aspiring Writers challenge. Thanks to Yarnspinnerr for providing the photo!