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Weekly Contest #275
My wife is losing it. I only died five days ago and here she is—falling apart. My house, which I'm still paying for, looks like a victim of robbery. The kitchen Hope begged me to let her design—with its shelves of "organic" herbs and useless "décor" pots, and the "locally carved" wood table that cost me a fortune—is cluttered with plastic food containers her friends brought after my funeral. Why would one person need all that food? The mac and cheese looks disgusting, fit only for a pig. I'm glad I can't smell it, but my nose still wrinkles ...
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