Not with the Cream of Wheat I’d made for our breakfast. Not with my refusal to have my tonsils out. “I’m not mad at you,” he assured me as we sat in the breakfast nook watching a pair of squirrels plunder the birdfeeder outside. “I’m just pointing out the inconsistency of your stubbornness.”“The inconsistency of my stubbornness?”“That’s right,” he said, wagging his spoon at me. “We’re choking down this tasteless gruel because of your bad cholesterol—”“The male species comes with good and bad cholesterol, too, you know.”“—But you don’t care one iota how many times a night you stop breathing!”“If I make you eggs will you shut up about my tonsils?”“Good try.”“I’m just trying to be consistent, Ike.”“And I’m just trying to keep you from falling over dead.”“Good! We’ve met each other half way. Now eat your gruel so I can read the paper.” I snapped the paper open and read the headline across the top of page one:Stunned Police SaySlain Woman Born A Man.
What do You think about The Unraveling Of Violeta Bell?
