by Megan Auffart
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Okay, I think this one needs some explanation. See, I was getting sick of all the unbelievable "I love you! I need you! Marry me!" stories out there, so I decided to write one of my own, about my interpretation of what a real married couple would do if they were mad at each other (and had weird ideas about how to get revenge. Hee!). I enjoyed writing it and I am very eager to hear what you have to say about it, so review! review! review!

Narin began to finger one of the warts on his feet, scratching at the rough edges with his nail as he concentrated on not looking at Radha. He knew that she hated to see his feet almost as much as Narin hated to see her disgusted face whenever she glanced at a new wart or a cracked toenail. He knew that he had gotten the athlete’s foot at the YMCA locker rooms, but he didn’t know how the warts had gotten there, surrounded by the peeling skin that seemed to flake off whenever touched.

There. His fingernail had found a space beneath the hardened edge of the wart and the skin of his foot. He began to pull upwards, conscious of any and all nerve endings, which might not have been deadened by the acid he’d been applying nightly. The top layer of the wart gave way stubbornly, but Narin felt no pain when he pulled. The cracked white of the surface of the wart, about the size of the eraser of a pencil, felt strangely smooth between his fingers. Still not looking at Radha, he flicked the skin of the wart towards the trash, carefully making sure to miss.

She winced and Narin tried to smile and rejoice in her discomfort, but he couldn’t. He just wished that she would speak to him again. Why wouldn’t she apologize? It was clearly her fault, but he had always delighted in stubborn women and Radha had always been a fountain of delights, prior to their fight. But now…

She was moving. Narin unconsciously sat up a little straighter as he saw Radha sit down and begin combing her hair with her fingers, the barely audible snaps resounding in the air as the weaker strands of her hair broke instead of detangling. Long, sun-damaged strands of black hair began to fall onto the black leather Karlskrona-brand lounger that had cost him over $200 dollars on their tight budget. Narin was absolutely certain that Radha knew how much he hated picking up pieces of her hair! And yet she did it anyway!

He got up and walked over to her as she groomed herself on top of his favorite lounger. Then, mouth open so that she could see the saffron rice still stuck in his teeth from lunchtime, he completely forgot what he’d been about to say.

Radha smiled back at him, her teeth a dull white that failed to sparkle in the sunlight, and then left the room, obviously thinking that she’d won.

Narin shook his head and picked up all the long hairs that had attached themselves to his lounger and threw them into the trash, making sure that none of them fell onto the floor by accident. Radha’s hair got everywhere, including into their dinner. Narin couldn’t even begin to count the number of times he’d taken bite of curry, only to have to spit it back out again into a napkin, one of her damned hairs curled around a chunk of chicken.

Still, she was a good cook, if only she’d ever agree to put her hair back. Narin sighed and stretched back onto the lounger. Then he swung one of his legs across his bent knee, grabbed his ankle in order to pull his foot closer towards his head, and proceeded to examine his wart.