"You know what? Don't even bother coming home at all if you're going to come looking like that."
"Evangeline!" The name tastes metallic on Gerald's tongue, stinging. His wife from glares at him. Full on daggers. No, scratch that, full on ninja stars, nunchucks, katanas. An entire arsenal
(more) of sharp eyebrows and frown lines. It made his head hurt.
"What do you expect? That I'll just let you show up to my book club in THAT?" She's a steaming kettle now, but her weapons are still at the ready. Always sharp.
"Didn't you read the book?" Gerald deflates. His dress sags.
"What does that have to do with ANYTHING, Gerald?"
The peach tafetta is limp with Gerald's sweat. "It-It was about a man who found his true self through cross-dressing."
There's a pause. It echoes for a few moments.
"That's absolutely ridiculous. Whose idea was it to read that?!"
Gerald folds in on himself. The paper mache crown slumps on his balding, boiled egg of a head. "Yours."
Flustered, Evangeline sputters. Mutters. "God damn it, Gerald."
Her husband slides on a pair of violently purple pumps, hiding a smile of victory.
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