"Is that a bad thing?" No," he said, embarrassed that he'd made the comment. "Not at all. It's just that you don't usually do that." I don't take show...rs?" Her right eyebrow arched."I meant after practice," he said, his voice urgent. "I mean before you come here." He felt ridiculous, but he also felt like he had to explain himself. He neither understood this urge, or stopped to examine it. "And that's fine. I mean you're fine, sweaty. I don't mind you sweaty at all."He closed his eyes. How. When my wife does make eye contact, I see fear and depression; she wants hope, but I only give a little support and wait.I end up making the evening meals.The Bitch doesn’t understand that this is how we secretly communicate right in front of her.Monday is just a nice big salad full of the things my wife loves. The Bitch sees it and tells my wife I made salad because she’s gotten too fat. But my wife notices that I’ve slipped in her favorite crazy-high-calorie dressing. And she slips me tiny. More

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