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I am lying on the stairs. Arms out like superman. It is saturday. My wife thinks I am impersonating a salmon. Halfway up I realized I didn't care about anything upstairs, so I laid down.

I was trying to figure out something to do when my wife interrupted. She said something about tanning salons. This morning we were making french toast and she touched my arm. I will never tell her about my desire to see a spaceship. Her pettiness frightens me. Why can't I know how many fillings she's had in her teeth. She knows I have lazy sperm. She thinks I talk to them. I'm not the hopeful and encouraging sperm shepherd she thinks I am.

She swears that once in my sleep I said alien sperm. She has a tendency to hear what she wants to hear. I never even proposed to her. We were in a Red Lobster and I had been coming back from the bathroom.

"Of course I will marry you," she said.

We had been talking about bagless vacuum cleaners. People at nearby tables were looking at me. I thought I had missed something.

"Great," I said.

We celebrated with a molten chocolate lava cake.

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