” Is someone going to make some more coffee, please?” he whined as he held the coffee pot under the faucet.
“Yeah, YOU are.”, she muttered under her breath while sharpening the butcher knife. It was a puzzling thing to see, since there was nothing to butcher, no chicken to cut up, no ham to slice.
“But I …can’t make coffee as good as you. And besides, it’s not very Christian to talk with your mouth shut and I can’t hear you.”
His voice was not unlike the sound of sludgy water dripping into a pan of old gravy..you know the type, the stuff that’s been in the fridge one day too long, clumpy and with a thick skin on top of it. Or maybe like the sound of a sick mosquito trying to stay alive in a sloth’s ear that is terribly infected and pustulous.
to be continued