Sandwich of Love

You come home after a long shift, and greet your wife, who's making herself a delicious-looking sandwich in the kitchen. You trot over to the living room, eager to plant your butt on the couch - but the dog's looking at you in a way that makes it clear she's not keen to share the coveted couch space, not with some sweaty proletarian who's just barely allowed to share the Big Lady's bed with her for some unnatural reason. You're too exhausted to wrangle her off, so you just squeeze in somehow. Your work for the day is almost done, but not yet - your wife's gonna ask how it was and what you did, and you're gonna have to scrape another 30 minutes of jovial smalltalk about your co-workers and clients from the barrel of your soul before you can go to lie down. You're gonna have to show her how successful and popular you are, how insightful and ambitious, how much smarter than your boss - and you don't know if you can nail it. Here she comes, parading her big, juicy sandwich as if she didn't know how famished you are... "I made you a sandwich," she smiles, then raises her eyebrow at the dog. "Shush!" she says, and the dog rolls off the couch. She leans down to give you the plate, and a kiss on the cheek. "Dig in!" she purrs, and walks off to do something else. You look at the sandwich, and cry.