"Sorry, I can't go taking pictures of Lady's underwear in Costco. You will have to go yourself."

My wife likes stirring shit up.

I shouldn't yawn, it isn't polite, and I am concentrating on that, but it is easier to concentrate on that if I rest my head on the back of the chair. I start to slouch in my seat.

"It's a banana," my wife explains.

The department smells strongly of roasted garlic. No. Even stronger. It smells of roasting garlic.

"Good if you're buying gold, not so good if you're buying flour." I have my hands in it after all– flour; not gold.

"Nutmeg." I repeat, perhaps a bit sheepishly. "That woman smelled like banana bread."

"So I took it to the old tailor lady near the park and asked her how much it would cost to alter it." she continues, "She's cheaper because she spilled Kim-chi on the shirt I took her last time."