I turned to my husband. “She’ll be sorry, you know. When I’m published, she will be so fucking jealous. I’m going to take a picture of her face when I tell her and frame it.”
He yawned. “Ok.”
I was incensed. “You don’t think I can do it? You think I won’t do it? I’m definitely going to take that photo. She’ll never show her face to me again!”
He sniffed and turned around, presenting me with his back.
I poked him viciously. “What?? You don’t think I’ll do it? You think I won’t take her picture when I get published?”
“Oh, I think you’ll definitely do that. You will take her picture.”
“Waitaminit. You think I won’t get published?? Is that what you think?”
Abruptly, he sat up. Got to his feet and turned around. “You have to write before you can publish. You have to put pen to paper. That’s what I think.”
He left. Leaving me with the shadows in our bedroom.