I give to you a story in two times eleventy-one words...
A commotion in the kitchen preceded a disappointed exclamation. ‘Look,’ he whined in dismay as into the room I popped. I glimpsed the broken plate, then realized it wasn’t a plate from the cabinet.
‘Where did you get that?’
His grimace told me something was awry.
‘From the hutch?’ His upspoken statement trailed as he wilted beneath my stern gaze.
‘Have you lost your mind?’ I shouted before stalking off to the bedroom.
Knowing I needed time to simmer, he entered later with a plate of deviled eggs and a snifter of scotch. ‘How are you?’ he inquired sheepishly.
I half-heartedly grunted.
‘I’m sorry. I wanted our last night to be special.’
‘They specifically said not to use anything in the hutch.’
‘I know.’
I popped an egg into my mouth.
‘You’re going to fix it, right?’
A swig of scotch washed down my throat. I sighed.
‘Right?’
The mustard’s tang and the scotch’s smoke commingled deliciously. Time paused; I felt in the back of my neck the beginnings of a familiar pain.
He waited.
‘When are you ever going to take responsibility?’
‘Sorry’ he groveled.
My no longer nascent headache worsened. ‘Fine; bring me the plate.’
‘Yay!’ he exclaimed insensitively. ‘Oh, and I’ll take care of everything else’ he replied as an afterthought.
I sighed again, preparing for a long night.
