Bad Mouth

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Aidan watched as

I poked a knife into

the rice-grain sized

gaps in the dishwasher

spinner. He said,

“Should you do it like that?

Don’t they need to

be pulled out, not pushed in?”

I kept on poking.

“The only way to pull

them out is by sucking,”

I said with authority.

“How would you do that?”

“With your mouth,” I said.

“How would you know that?”

“I’ve done it,” I said.

Had I? It seemed like

an unsavoury act.

I began to have my doubts.

“That’s gross. Really foul.”

And his nose crumpled

in distaste.

“I bet you wish you hadn’t

married me now.”

“Almost,” he said and turned

away.

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