Choices

Where to go next year? So many choices. A beach holiday? Mountains? Both?
“What about South Africa?” I say.
My Mrs looks up from her knitting.
“It’s a long way, dear.”
“The bottom of the garden is a long way if you’ve lost your get up and go.”
“And have you?” she asks.
“Have I what?”
“Lost your get up and go?”
“No.”
“Good. Then get up and go make me a cuppa.”
There’s a twinkle in her eye, so I don’t mind.
I drop the holiday brochure in her lap.
I don’t need to fret, anyway. She always chooses.