Crushed Apple

“Yanky, you need to get help, or you’re outa here.”

I roll my eyes. I’ve heard these words from my wife, Rochel, countless times throughout the nine years of our marriage. I dismiss them yet again.

But Rochel isn’t done nagging me. “If you can announce in front of your kids that Mommy’s supper tastes horrible, and tell them that I’m ugly, then you need to leave this house immediately.”

“There you go,” I say, “making up stories again.”