"What is this anyway?" my loving husband asked that night at dinner, as he moved his fork through the food on his plate, a look of distaste on his fac...."Screw you," I muttered, not willing to take any of his shit tonight."Christ Sam, you've got all day and all you have to do is cook one fucking edible meal for your husband. Is that asking too goddam much?" he snarled, our evening starting in our typical fashion. "I work all day to put this food on the table while you waste your time on your. " Yeah," he sighed. "I know exactly how that works. I always seemed to wind up doing what my wife wanted." He drained the beer that he had been nursing for a while and decided he could handle one more, so got one from the refrigerator and went to sit across the dinette table from Catalina. He knew he would be there for a while; in normal circumstances it doesn't take long to heat up a couple cans of beef stew, in practice the microwave was so small and weak that it would take a few. More

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