You can see the question coming a mile off. It rolls in from the horizon, a ponderous wall of burnt cloud and crackling thunder, terrifying in its inevitability. There’s only one chance at escape: you have to run.

“So, what have you been up to?”

Too late! A question mark is a padlock on your freedom; to unlock it you must give an answer. But what to say? What shape is the key to this lock?

Your interrogator looks at you placidly, seemingly unfazed by the loaded question they hold pressed against your temple.

“Oh, this and that.” You smile at your would-be executioner.

“Such as?” Damn!

You could lie. Lying is easy. But the first lie is merely a foundation for more untruths; without a plan your house of lies can crumble due to some unforeseen flaw, leaving you trapped and floundering under the rubble. You cannot take that chance.

“Well, I’ve been writing.” It is a container made of truth; let them fill its emptiness as they wish.

“A writer, eh?” That isn’t what you said. “Published?” Their neutral features belie the cruel jeer that must be begging to be etched upon their contemptuous face. How could anyone unwittingly be so cruel?

“Erm, no.” You can practically see their eyes glaze over in disinterest. “But I’m working on something now that will hopefully attract some attention.” Idiot! That was a lie!

“What’s it about?” Shit!

“Pineapples.” What?

“Pineapples?” They have a right to be incredulous. What the hell kind of answer was that?

“Pineapples.” Oh well done, genius, it’s falling apart already.

“I… see.” There’s a pregnant pause; it better not birth another question. “What about pineapples, specifically?” Fuck!

“It’s a novel.” You’re not even running this stuff by me any more, are you? “Due to global warming there’s a world shortage of pineapples, and my book explores the butterfly effect this has on civilisation as a whole.” You’re definitely not running it by me.

“Sounds… fruity.” They’re smiling like an idiot. You’re both idiots!

“Very.” Oh yes, grin away. I am so upping your dosage of self loathing when we get back home!

“Well I better go and mingle a bit more.” Shake their hand then, you big idiot. “Good luck with the novel.” This loser is certainly going to need it.

They’ve gone, thank God. This kind of thing is exactly why I tell you to stay at home! But no, you had to come to this party to ‘socialise’. Now make your excuses and let’s get out of here before you humiliate us any further.

Pineapples indeed…