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And another thing, what made "you" so much more important than "me"? Since when did the spotlight beam down to the person on stage left? I come home to your kind eyes and calloused embrace and want to shrink away. My burrow of blankets and papers keep me secure, but you want to peel it all back and dissect each layer of bad filing time and angry customers. You brush your own day off as if the new work hours didn't bother you. I hide myself behind the pot on the stove, speaking my choppy answers through the haze of oily steam. I just want to listen now; I'm not up for a full analysis of my day or even an investigation on where I bought my shirt. You wave an impatient hand to scatter my pathetic attempts of diversion and "no really" at my vague responses. I lower my head and peer into a mist filled world of comfort as your shrill consistence swarms about me in the cooler air. The female half of our species does not always require to have her jaw moving 24/7. We like to sit down and just sit, too. I roll my head onto my shoulder and look at you sitting at the kitchen table. I hate your open ears and willingness to understand. I hate not wanting to share even more. I switch off the stove and dribble rivulets of the stew into two bowls. For the both of us. Not just me. Now, tell me about your day.