part of a story

Mark was watching the game when I got home. He didn’t even look back when he heard the door shut. “Honey, I’m home.” He was leaning forward on the couch, hands clasped together, intently watching the TV mouthing “go. go. go” quietly to himself. It is normal to me by now. I set down my purse and get out the bread, lettuce, tomatoes, turkey, and ham to make a sandwich. He must have heard the rustling and said, “Honey can you make me a sandwich?” I laughed, “Uhm, no. Get up and get it yourself.” He looked back for a second and said, “No. I’m watching the game. Can you get it for me?” It is amazing how men think they can do whatever they want and tell their wives to get things for them. “No. Get off your lazy ass and get it yourself.” By this point he is giving me the sarcasm. As always.  He looked over the back of the couch momentarily and yelled, “MAKE ME A SANDWICH WOMAN!!” I shook my head, “I don’t live to please you.” He grinned, “Yes you do, you said it in our wedding vows.” I smiled back and said, “I say a lot of things”, winked, and walked out of the room with my sandwich in hand.