Fried Green Tomatoes.


This morning my wife dragged me upstairs, enslaved me, then forced me to clean up my tools – which had mysteriously begun accumulating in the kitchen.

After my release from this barbaric and prolonged internment, (it must have taken nearly five minutes!), I looked at her hopefully and said “I’d love some fried green tomatoes for breakfast.”

Steel gray eyes glinting, she responded “And I’d love you to mop the floor.”

Turning away, I started toward the stairs, murmuring, “I’ve lost my appetite”, in piteous tone.

A chuckle, a derisive snort, “Thought of cooking has robbed you of your appetite?  Poor boy.”

Deliberately misunderstanding her callous coldness for sympathy, I responded “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll get it back… as soon as you’ve finished mopping the floor.”

About C.G.Ayling

Musing misuser of words, lover of lyrical literature, author, occasional contrary thoughts. An honorable man’s name, in memoriam.
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