When I was younger, pre England and Brian May, I was a fighter. Street fights were my sport, usually against males in dark alleyways, fuelled by alcohol and drugs. The number of night I crept home bruised were too many to keep track of.

This is what I think whilst I sit on the couch eating port wine-flavoured jelly and watching Little House On The Prairie with my newborn son.

"I could totally fight Nellie Oleson." I reminded him, mouth full of food. I scratched my scalp with the handle of my spoon, almost losing it completely in my hair.

"ugh! Look at Michael Landon go! I tell you, Hen, that's a manly specimen right there! Woo, is he ever!" I continued, not noticing Vivienne walk into the lounge room.

"When you're done getting hot over farm boy Charles, your actual lover mailed you a package." She announced, tossing a white mail bag to me. I put my bowl on the floor, ripping the bag open. I pulled out a pair of fluorescent green skinny jeans and a Journey t-shirt, both in exactly the right size for me.

"Babe, I miss you and Henry (and I guess Vivienne) and nothing cheers me up like clothes and sex. Please enjoy part one of my gift, as part two physically cannot happen until I'm home. Love you always, Rogersaurus." I read aloud from the piece of paper. I fanned myself playfully, watching Vivienne groan at me from the other end of the couch.

"Hey Viv! Viv! You could say I get the other package when he gets home, aye? Aye?" I asked, making finger guns and shooting at her like one of The Wiggles. Vivienne smirked, asking me why we were friends. I returned to my jelly, proud of my innuendo.

"On the outside, you and Rog are polar opposites. He's this rockstar bad boy who loves splashing cash, living in mansions, drinking alcohol and being loud. He's cocky as all hell and always ready to bone. You, on the other hand, are so different. You love being working class and working your way through life, you love everything being second-hand, and you don't like living in big houses. You're just a steam train that puffs out support and if you get nothing in return, you'll still keep powering on. You're a textbook definition of nurse. But you two are actually perfect. There's a soft side to Roger somewhere under that rockstar exterior and only you seem to know how to find it. He adores you, and not in a sexual way all the time. God, he loves you. Winifred said he doesn't shut up about you on the phone."

"Is Rog paying you?" I joked, looking up from my food.

"No. I just think you two are perfect." Vivienne finished, smiling at me.

"He is pretty great." I shrugged, putting my empty bowl on the floor and leaning over to Henry. He looked at me.

"Hi, Henry. Hi baby." I whispered, lifting him out as gently as humanly possible.

"Thank you. Sometimes I need to hear that." I added quietly. Vivienne stretched her legs over mine, tapping my abdomen with her foot.

"Someone has to tell you they love you."
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Vivienne closed the door with her foot, her hands occupied. She carried it into the kitchen, sitting it on the table in front of me. I looked up at her, putting another mouthful of cereal in my mouth.

"What?" I asked, mouth full of Cheerios.

"Why the hell do you have this?"

I looked at the lamp in front of my. A round black plastic base supported a plastic female leg, complete with fishnet stockings and black stilettos, finished with a tasseled lampshade at the top.

"Rog likes lamps. I find the best ones and bring them home for him."

"You guys are the strangest couple I've ever met. I thought you making a cardboard sign with the words "loser" written in glitter glue was gold enough." Vivienne laughed, walking away.

Yeah, we were a strange couple, but I wouldn't change us for the world.