Ask a question, get an answer

Agnes entered the house and girded herself for attack, clutching the heavy purse close to her side. Her husband greeted her at the front door with a wan smile.

"Norman, I have a question for you and let's see if you can be honest with me."

He stared at her, silent and saucer-like.

"Did you sleep with Cristina?"

He looked away. She'd never thought her husband would act the coward, but here it was.

"Norman, I repeat, did you sleep with Cristina?"

"Honey, it's a little complicated ..."

"I don't see how. The answer is either yes, I did sleep with Cristina or no, I didn't sleep with her. So which is it?"

"Well ..."

"I'll take that as a yes. So let me ask you another question. Do you want a divorce?"

His lip quivered. "No, not really."

"Not really? Not really? Does that mean that you kind of do want a divorce and you kind of don't want a divorce? Do you kind of still want to sleep with Cristina?"

"Well, yes! She's got watermelon tits. But that doesn't mean I don't want to be married to you. Or to sleep with you either ... I do!"

"Do you think I'm a fool? I wasn't born yesterday, Norman Balmoral."

"You're the smartest babe I know!"

"Babe? Norman, we've been married for eight years. You don't know me well enough by now to know how I feel about sex and marriage?"

"I just thought you'd be more realistic. I'm a man, after all, and men like to wander occasionally."

"Brother, what an idiot I am! And to think I thought you were faithful. How long have you been sleeping with Cristina? Have there been others?"

"I've only been with her thirteen times! And there've only been forty-seven others!"

Agnes took the revolver out of her purse and shot him straight in the heart. Good riddance. She only regretted the splatter of blood on her limestone tile. Limestone absorbed everything. It'd never come out.