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Toast

He was anxious. She’d asked about the butter, and then it’d all gone quiet. He knew she sometimes found his little foibles frustrating, so he tried to curb the worst of them. But the butter just drove him nuts. There were mornings he ate the toast bare because he couldn’t palate the icky mess when he opened the carton.

And really, how hard is it just to be a bit careful when buttering your toast? Surely it was just normal consideration for others, leaving things in the same clean state you found them?

But he didn’t want to get in another argument over something she saw as completely insignificant, he’d had enough of those. They got on very well the rest of the time, and every time they fought over one of these things she just made him feel like he was being petty.

So he’d bought the extra carton of butter, it seemed the easiest way. But now she’d asked about it, and then she’d gone quiet. He decided to get up and head into the kitchen.

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