Three firm olives and one soft, squishing between her fingers for a sandwich. It was only a few hours before she'd had the oven toasted turkish bread slathered in her margarine, but she'd been craving her weekday standard since she spotted the olives in the fridge again.
The hummus was thick, the bread was soft from it's stint in the microwave, the lettuce was not too bad considering the bad was opened almost a week ago, and the semi-dried tomatoes were always in good form.
She remembered the advice she was given earlier in the week, to push the soap pump down with the back of her hand before attempting the tap handle - he did not enjoy the lingering smell of olive brine on his hands as much as she did.
She turned off the tap and listened to him outside, sweeping off the table as he talked to a friend of his. She smiled as she though of the different friends he had and the different ways they chose to show their affection - to ask for his advice, to support the same teams, to discuss future children's names.
And as she returned to the bench to close off her sandwich she realised how lucky she was. How lucky she was to share this affordable home with the man she loved, the man looked up to by so many, the man who looked up to her. That she was able to fulfill her hunger with a readily stocked fridge and cupboard, that she'd had the time to celebrate a birthday with friends the night before, that she was dressed warmly and could enjoy the sunlight streaming through the kitchen window.
This is the way she should appreciate her life - this is the person she should choose to be.