Cookies

I sit back in the thirty dollar leather chair he had purchased from the thrift store and sigh. He doesn't seem to notice. I sigh again. Nothing. He is engulfed in the game on TV.

I stand up and pace around the kitchen, deperately trying to think of something to keep my attention for the remaining hour of the game.

"Do you want me to make some cookies?" I ask.

Immediately he swings his head away from the television and towards me.

"That would be awesome!" he says loudly.

I stand there for a minute, looking at the butter I took out of the refrigerator. I don't really want to make cookies. I don't want to go through all the trouble. I sigh again. This time it gets his attention.

"What's the matter sweetheart?

"I don't really want to make cookies," I say.

"But you just asked if I wanted cookies," he states.

"I know, but I don't want to anymore...."

I hear him sigh and mumble "ok" under his breath. I walk out of the kitchen towards my room. I leave the butter on the shelf thinking that I'll psych myself up to make cookies sometime this evening. I don't. The butter melts.