She recognized with sinking dread that the argument about whether onions belonged in the potato salad was a manufactured friction that would justify a drink. Which meant he’d gone off Antabuse several days ago in anticipation of finding a pretext for an argument.
She left the counter cluttered with egg shells and onion skins and walked out. Before she got in her car, she detached his house key from her key ring and tossed it on his welcome mat.
Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “potato salad.”