Another one of your daft ideas. “Let’s have a walking holiday,” you said, “It’ll be great, just the two of us.” Never thought to ask me what I wanted. Next thing I know you’re off buying boots and poles; a tent and a backpack. I knew it wouldn’t end well. Look at us. You marching off down another endless, dusty track and me trudging along behind you. I’m telling you now, next year we’re going back to normal. You can have your week on a sunny beach somewhere, while I’ll be in some luxury kennels where I’m pampered and appreciated.
Another 100-word story for Friday Fictioneers