How old is the tuna?

     When the coffee finished, she poured herself a cup and sat down at the counter to check her email. She deleted the spam first and then went through the remaining emails. Jenny had sent her one, subject “can’t wait”, with a picture of somewhere in the Bahamas. Her daughter had sent one telling her to have a good time and be safe. And Mack had responded, “Glad you got there okay. How old is the tuna in the fridge? Mack”.      Just like Mack. Never saying too much she thought. His lack of emotion really pissed her off and asking her about left overs in the fridge. In their last fight, she'd screamed that he had no emotions. That she'd had to live the past twenty-two years dealing with his lack of them, the bastard. He’d acted shocked “well certainly I have emotions” he’d defended. She hadn’t meant that he had no emotions they were just so guarded. He’d never been gooshy about his feelings. Why did that bother her now?
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