I come home from work
in the evening, and my wife
is standing at the kitchen counter
putting a covered dish
in the microwave
with her back to me.
"Did you have a good day?"
I ask automatically.
She surprises me by
half turning toward me,
just enough so I can see
the annoyed look on her face.
Then she goes back to her work.
"I don't think of them as good or bad,"
she says over her shoulder.
"I think of them as days."
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