He plated the lobster thermidor, poured the Chardonnay, and called to his wife. As she raised her glass, he stared at the garden soil ground into the skin around her nails. She shrugged. “Sorry, I did scrub.” During dinner she addressed how to handle blight and listed the new wildflower seeds she had planted. “You should come and see the roses!” she said. He explained how to select a lobster. He kept glancing at her nails, waiting for her to tell him how he had outdone himself with this meal. Late that night he crept outside and beheaded her roses.
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"Classic"
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