HiveComb

She was mad at him. It was his own fault and he accepted it. He had been distracted when she asked him how she looked in the dress. Barely heard her at all. And his brain, useless lump that it was, had jumbled the signals between the article he had been reading about cows and the question she had just asked and…the results were disastrous.

Not because she really thought he thought she looked like a cow. That miscommunication had been cleared up easily enough. It was that for the umpteenth time, he had just pretended to listen to her and mumbled something unrelated just to make her go away.

She said she was fine. No woman ever means those words and he wasn't about to believe them. Not when she was serving bean stew. He loved his wife dearly but her bean stew was the absolute worst and strictly reserved for punishment.

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I was going to add that it was guaranteed to make anyone who ate it frighteningly gassy for a full week but it seemed like a good idea to end the story here 🤭.

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