Less than two hours after arriving home from a l - o - n - g week, we have gone to our separate corners: him to his office, me to mine. We made it through dinner, about 15 minutes of a violent, bloody movie (to which I put a stop) and about five minutes of the McNeil Lehrer hour before the fit hit the shan. He went on a tirade over some story about the middle class and I said, "I don't know why I even bother to come home" and walked away. He tried to coax me back, but the thought pouring through my mind tumbled from my lips: "No, I don't enjoy your company."
I guess that's that, huh?
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