“Henry didn’t cook for me again; I had to have frozen pizza.”
“Well, that’s better than nothing. Last time he didn’t cook for you, you didn’t eat anything at all!” Kim laughed as she went to heat up her delicious home-cooked meal.
It took me longer to figure out how to turn the box into a pizza cooker than it took to actually cook the fucker. I was so angry and near-tears by the time I was done, and the muscles in my hands hurt from tearing perforations and folding over flaps.
Tonight, I was daydreaming about going to jail. Just to hang out, you know? (And no, not on conjugal visit day! OK, maybe.) Walk in with a magazine and read aloud some Hollywood gossip while inmates do push ups around me. Once I murder Henry, I suppose I’ll have a whole lot of time to do that.
Eleanore said inmates smear shit on the walls.