I woke up early this morning, smoothed down my hair, applied a quick swipe of my red lippy then shuffled daintily into the kitchen. Occupying myself for one of the only prides in my day, I pressed the Kuerig into action. Making my Husband’s coffee is absolutely necessary for I fear if I accidentally forget this crucial step to my day, I won’t be able to buy those emerald earrings he promised me on his next paycheck. He wakes up almost an hour after I do, but of course, he is so tired from swinging a wrenchy-dosit all day that he deserves his rest. I make sure to tuck him in and give him his warm milk before bed time so that his slumber is the utmost profitable. He will wake up and move to the bathroom where he shaves. I continue about my subservient duty to cook eggs, fake bacon and hashbowns in my bare feet. Of course, I have to show off that perfect pedicure he payed for on Tuesday. When he finally comes to sit at the formica table, I plate his food, serve him, and freshen his coffee. A kiss to his cheek is in order, but I hover just off his cheek so not to leave a rosebud. Taking my place at the other end of the table, we eat in silence. I would never dare to speak unless spoken to.