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Her Jeans
"Hand me that jar of honey," she says.
"This jar of honey?" I ask.
"Yes, that jar of honey," she says.
I hand it to her.
"This jar of honey is sticky," she says. "Now my hands are sticky."
"I’m sorry," I say. "I didn’t realize that it was sticky. Want a towel for your hands?"
She wipes her hands off onto her jeans and shakes her head. I wouldn’t wipe honey-covered hands on my jeans. Then my jeans and my hands would both be sticky. I wouldn’t want my jeans to be sticky. But I don’t feel like getting up to get her a towel so I say nothing about it. I let her wipe her sticky hands on her jeans.
"Would you still like to try some honey?" I ask her.
"No," she says. "I’m not in the mood for honey anymore."
"Alright," I say.
