Not Yummy

She walked in the front door and was confronted with an odor, a combination of Middle Eastern restaurant, dog and scented candle. A wave of nausea washed over her. She took a deep breath and continued into the house. Trying to breathe through her mouth, she followed the smell into the kitchen, the source.

There he was, face slightly reddened, moving frantically between the stove, the sink and the toaster oven.

“Hi Honey, I’m home” as she leaned in for a kiss.

“Hi, I’m making lamb but the chick-peas threw me off, dinner in ten”

She looked around, a roast in the oven, several pots of mystery side-dish boiling merrily, wisps of smoke coming from the toaster oven.

“It looks yummy hun, can’t wait.”

As she walked to the back of the house to change, she took a breath of fresh air and smiled.

She was lucky.

He made her dinner.

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