"What are you doing? It's about to start," she called out.
"I'm making French toast, do you want a piece?" He knew how
much she adored French toast.
"It's on, hurry up." She sat cross-legged in the comfy chair
with a blanket covering her bony knees.
He was still in the kitchen, folding her piece of French
toast around a row of chocolate.
"Oh, shit!" She screamed and threw the remote control at the
TV.
He came running. "What's wrong?"
"It's a fucking re-run."
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