“I need to ask you…” she began. He waved his hamlike hand dismissively in her face.
“What kind of breakfast do you call that?” He pointed accusingly with a fork.
“I haven’t shopped. I had to…” He waved her silent again.
“One tiny sausage, and that egg’s got a red spot. Pathetic.” He speared the sausage.
Dumping the egg in the Disposall, she tried again. “I need to ask… OW!!”
“Stupid bitch,” he grumbled, stumping out. “No need to waste an egg.”
Moving her hand from her stinging head to her midriff, she muttered, “There’s my answer.”