“Mmmmm, this tastes pretty good,” Vanna said after
taking a nibble on the pork roast she had just removed from the oven,
“I hope Mike likes it, it’s one of her favorites!” Mike, that was just
a shortened version for Michelle, but calling her that even by mistake
sometimes cause her to fly off into a rage. Vanna was going about the
business of preparing the rest of the evening meal when she heard the
front door of the apartment opening. “Is that you, Mike,” she called
form the kitchen, “I’m out here in the kitchen, supper will be ready
in about ten minutes.” Clad in a flannel work shirt, blue jeans, and
heavy work boots, Mike appeared in the kitchen door and growled, “Get
me a beer, I’m fucking beat.” Vanna went to the fridge and pulled out
a long neck bottle of Budweiser and handed it to her tough looking
room mate while saying, “Rough day, huh?” “The fucking worst, that ass
hole Parker had me hauling cement all day when he knew my hamstring
was still sore,” she spat after taking a long swallow out of her
bottle. “Well,” Vanna said brightly, “I’ve made one of your favorites,
roast pork and apple sauce, maybe that will make you feel a little
better.” “Maybe,” Mike said sullenly, “maybe.”