She is beautiful, she hangs on every word he speaks, she’s so in love, and the irony is that she may not even know how hopelessly smitten she is, while the other irony is that I’m not upset, though I should be and could easily see how another man would yell or slam his palm on the dining table in front of all the guests and, later that night, run his fist through the bedroom door when she locks him out because he’s become impossible to live with.
