Every morning, he very cheerfully says good morning to me.
(Well, almost every morning. Occasionally I think he must be mad because he won’t even look at me when I walk in.)
I often ignore him.
This morning, he again very cheerfully said good morning.
I said, yeah, whatever.
I wanted to say, really? really? You just spent the night in a queen size bed all to your self under my homemade quilt with your own personal bathroom right off to the side of the room. Sure, it’s a good morning for you. Never mind that I just spent the night tossing and turning on a tiny sofa cushion on the living room floor because I can’t stand to be in the same room with you after you sexually assaulted me.
But I didn’t say that.
All I said was, yeah, whatever.