"Bad table manners have destroyed more marriages than infidelity," she reminded him.
He stood for a dramatic response.
"How dare you. We are having chicken. Fried Chicken! You set me up for
failure." He sat back down after raising his unused fork towards the
kitchen, and than pointing it at his heart.
He went back to
devouring the bird with his hands like a buzzard would a carcass only a
lonely dark stretch of cold paved highway.
She hated him.