Comorbidity

When you cook you use every pot, including ones that can’t go in the dishwasher, because I clean; when I cook, you poke my Brussels sprouts with your fork, pronounce them “mushy,” and push aside your plate.

You call my favorite show “aristoporn.”

On Saturday, you preened in the mirror before bar-hopping with your co-workers, so I knew awful Glenda would be there.

In short, there’s no grand, instigating incident.

But the cumulative effect of these irritants has worn my love into a soap so soft and thin that, the next time I shower, it will dissolve in my hand.