by Dallas Woodburn
1. The lacy red panties she discovers wedged between the back left and middle seats of the Jeep Grand Cherokee while reaching down to yank out the seatbelt that always disappears into the crack between the seats. Abe usually drives the Jeep, but this is LeAnn's week to drive Miles and his friends to soccer practice, so he took the Prius instead.
Her breath catches at the feel of the cheap silk lewdness between her fingers. What a silly, stupid cliché. She manages to ball up the panties inside her clenched fist and slip them into her purse without Miles or his friends seeing them.
2. When she buys a new dress on sale at Macy's, with a low-cut neckline and a flattering belt that cinches at the waist, and she puts it on and saunters up to her husband, stretched out across the couch reading the newspaper, and asks, “How do I look?” with a coy smile on her lips, Abe glances up for only a moment before muttering, “Fine,” and turning back to the newspaper.
3. “What's wrong?” she asks on a Tuesday night during dinner, noticing how he picks at his food like a child.
He sighs. “Nothing.”
“Don't lie to me.”
“Your mashed potatoes,” Abe says. “They're too lumpy.”
“I made them the same way I've always made them.”
“Maybe you should add more milk,” he says. “Next time.”
* * *
You can read the rest here: http://www.fictionaut.com/stories/dallas-woodburn/ten-reasons
This story stemmed from a writing exercise I was given in my undergraduate workshop with Aimee Bender to write a narrative using a list format. It's a fun prompt to try -- I challenge you to do so!