A Successful Marriage
Sarah laid the recipe cards back on the counter. "What do you mean, 'I cook both of them great'? Don't you care what I make tonight? At all?"
"Nope, don't care at all," Al replied, before recognizing her deceptively calm demeanor. "I mean -- aw, honey, you know I don't mean it that way -- "
"What way?" Sarah began furiously stuffing the cards back into her recipe file, then slammed the lid shut. "What way did you mean it, then, huh? That you just don't care? That no matter what I cook, that no matter what I do, it'll never be as good as your mother?" She glared at him. "Is that it?"
Al covered his eyes with one hand. "Now come on, sweetie, you know that isn't what I meant to say... I just meant that you can... you can make whatever you want for dinner. Really." He offered her a smile. "Whatever you want."
Sarah nodded curtly. "Fine. What I want," she said, stalking into the living room, "is to go out." She came back into view through the kitchen door, purse on her shoulder and keys in one hand. "I'll be back later tonight. Or maybe not. If you want dinner, you can go ask your mother to cook for you." And with that she was gone, not even bothering to slam the front door behind her.
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