“I just cleaned the kitchen. Put your glass in the dishwasher.” I stood at the sink prepared to leave it and deal with it later.
“Either place, it’s where it needs to be.”
“We’ve been married a week and you’re going to get lazy?”
“Lazy? Who works their tail off so we can afford a nice place like this?”
“Who works to keep it this nice?”
Blood boiled. I threw that dirty glass. It smashed on the wall. She stormed out. Crying.
I didn’t want our first fight to be over a dirty glass. In the dishwasher it went.
This is a story in 100 words or fewer for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle-Wisoff-Fields based on the photo above. Click the blue frog to read more stories inspired by this photo!