Eating In
by Anais Mark
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Across the card-cum-dining table, I eyed my contractor suspiciously. He thought I might be amenable to loosening the time constraints on our project. Spending more time with him was something I could certainly handle. Dragging out this remodel, not so much.
“You’re tired of eating out?”
“I’m sorry. Come again?” I snorted at my innuendo. Adolescent sex jokes were all that stood between me and impaling this lovely hunk of husband on any one of fifty-eleven plastic sporks I’d collected with the mountain of takeout we’d consumed since gutting our kitchen more than a year back. An eyeroll was all the appreciation I got for my restraint and humor. Someone in this damn union needed to respect the pun. Today would have to be my turn.
“You’re tired of eating out?”
“I’m sorry. Come again?” I snorted at my innuendo. Adolescent sex jokes were all that stood between me and impaling this lovely hunk of husband on any one of fifty-eleven plastic sporks I’d collected with the mountain of takeout we’d consumed since gutting our kitchen more than a year back. An eyeroll was all the appreciation I got for my restraint and humor. Someone in this damn union needed to respect the pun. Today would have to be my turn.
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