By Riham Adly
My husband was a joker. He called me Ugly Betty as he did with his ex-wife and the wife before her. His blood pressure was fine, mine hit the roof, so I avoided the French fries he had three times a day, seven days a week. I liked to make sure everything looked neat. I’d spoon dollops of ketchup into my finest plates, and fetch the shiniest forks. That’s better than sex, he’d say. Later, the cops found the special salt I had stashed in my poison ring. They didn’t believe me when I said it was out of love.
Riham Adly is a Pushcart and Best of the Net nominee. Her work is included in The Best Microfiction 2020.