The Mirror Has Two Feces

There are 5 rules to keeping your wife happy, my father told me. Mom always seemed content, so I've come to believe they must be true. 1) Keep her laughing. 2) Friday is bouquet day. 3) Don't buy the cheap gin. 4) Never underestimate the power of a whispered sweet nothing. And 5)

Bring her fresh coffee in bed every morning. I’m not great with rules 1-4, but I serve that joe every morning. It makes her smile, which lights up my day.

The rest of the rules, 6 to 17, I tend to ignore as well. I’m sorta breaking the entire rental agreement that I signed, and initialed in 23 different places, and which I didn’t really read. But honestly, free rent for following some rules? Who wouldn’t? And no one checks anyway.

“But isn’t it weird that the bathroom is just two buckets and a broken mirror? I get the no rent thing, but come on.” “The two bucket work great as long as you don’t mix them up. Don’t judge me.”

“In one bucket you wash your hands. In the other bucket you do your business. Just dump the contents out the window.” “Well okay…” I used the bathroom as advised, then took a good look at myself in the mirror.

This is the hideous lifeform also known as “me”. How I wish I weren’t stuck in this body. My mirror self called to me. It moved. It extended its hand out of the mirror, as if to pull me into an alternate reality. Then I snapped out of it. I really need to get some sleep.