I opened the cabinet under the kitchen sink. Nothing on top. Luckily for me, there was a dry paper plate separating the upper level of garbage of trash from the lower level. I grabbed the corner of the plate and pushed it to the side.
There it was. A once beautiful thing, pure in it's simplicity. Now just a shell of itself. No longer full of vitality and beauty. No, it's skin had been brutally ripped open, and it's guts torn apart for the base pleasures it it's killer.
Who killed this poetic vision? DearWife did. She mercilessly murdered it. In an act of revenge, I decided to do something that would frustrate her the most. I left her a piecemeal and sent her a text message to her phone. To my knowledge, she hasn't figured out voicemail or how to read text messages. The text message?
"Must have cookie dough."