Dishes

When she came into the room he was staring into the mirror with a look on his face like a kid who’d dropped their ice cream into a mud puddle.

Just look at me!  Yellow teeth, flabby gut, going bald in the back.  I’m a complete mess.  If I was a girl there’s no way in hell I’d date me. Why do you stick around?

He was depressed, it had been (another) long day at work and the dead end job combined with their endless money troubles had him questioning everything.  She was the best thing in his life by a long stretch.  And the more he thought about it the harder it was to believe that she’d chosen him of all people.

She laughed and the sound was wedding bells and jet planes and and water rushing down river.

You, sir, are a silly man.

It wasn’t an insult, just a statement of obvious fact.

We don’t choose who we love, it just is.  I love you for who you are.  But I’d love you more if you quit moping around and did the dishes.

Fair enough.