There’s a soft knock on the door. The door creaks open. It’s time for my wife to go to work.

She kisses me on the cheek, “Bye, honey,” she says, “I’ll see you tonight.” I put my arm around her waist and pull her closer, press my lips to hers for a brief second and break away with an intentional smacking sound. “Love you,” I say.

“Love you, too” She says as I turn back to my work. Then after a moment she adds, “What are you working on?”

I notice she has glanced at my computer screen. A betrayal! I quickly click to a different tab on my screen. My jaw clenches in an effort to restrain my tongue. What am I working on? Who is she to ask what I’m working on? How am I supposed to know? Now, I guess I have to stop—in the middle of what I’m working on—and answer these asinine questions. I swear this is intolerable. Finally I calmed down enough to speak. “I’m writing,” I mutter through slightly parted teeth.

“Oh, neat! What about?” She asks it with a bubbly ring in her voice. 

This is ridiculous. I will not be interrogated in my own house! I need something non-committal. I can’t tell her what I’m really writing about, because I’m not even sure. And she’ll think I don’t know what I’m doing if I say that. Okay, got it. “I’m just working on some different stories. You know… the usual.” Nice. That should satisfy her sadistic quest to pump information out of me.

“I’d like to read it,” she says, “I’m sure it’s wonderful with how much you’ve been working on it.”

My teeth clench so hard I feel my heartbeat in my jaw. I exhale quickly and angrily through my nose. Can I afford a divorce? Psh, trying to read something that is a work in progress? I can’t believe her. That should be a crime! “You should really head to work.” I don’t even look up.
She stands still for a moment, palpably angry. She then leaves and shuts the door without another word. How am I supposed to write now? I’m fuming! I wait for the garage door to close, and then go back to bed for my morning nap.