Theresa was lying on the bed reading when the front door opened. She heard Ron in the kitchen, getting a glass of water. She furrowed her brow wondering if the few dishes she had left in the sink would start a stupid argument. She reasoned that she had done most of them, there were just a few odds and ends left and most of those could be loaded into the dishwasher tomorrow anyway.
Ron stepped in the room and immediately said, "I thought we agreed that you would do the dishes." She started to rebut his point but he cut her off abruptly. "I see that you didn't finish them. So it's obvious that your behavior requires some correction."
She closed the book and took a deep breath. "Well, I don't know that we agreed on that. I mean, sure, I said that I would do them but it's not like you ever said that if I didn't finish all of them I would be punished."
Ron looked at her sternly. "Have you forgotten, you were the one who suggested it. You sounded serious enough and I know that you sometimes need a gentle nudge, shall we say, to finish what you start. As such, I didn't think we needed to discuss it. Now, I want you to go count the dishes that are left and tell me how many. Don't forget anything."
Theresa felt a nervous flutter as she walked out to the kitchen. She wasn't mad because, yes, she had meant it when she suggested earlier that night that maybe there should be a consequence if she didn't get the dishes done (that's the word she used, consequence, she couldn't quite bring herself to ask for a punishment outright.)
Eighteen pieces of silverware, one bowl, one cup, the lids and rings for two mason jars..."Do those count as one or two," she wondered. Better safe than sorry, she decided, best to count them as individual pieces. The plastic container and lid. She walked back into the bedroom.
