Jose sauntered into the bedroom humming Let’s Get It On, completely ready for romance. Instead, he stopped dead in his tracks.
The mattress had been aggressively split down the middle by a makeshift border wall constructed from chicken wire, barbed wire, and a rusty garden rake.
“Uh, Windy?” Jose stammered, eyeing the barricade. “Is this a hostage negotiation?”
Windy sat primly on her side, wearing a facial mask thicker than drywall paste. Without looking up, she cold-bloodedly whispered: “You know exactly what you did.”
Jose panicked, mentally scrolling through his recent sins. “Was it the thermostat? The mayo incident?”
She finally looked at him with the intensity of a thousand burned casseroles.
“You deleted The Crown finale to record a three-hour fishing documentary.”
Jose stared back at the razor-sharp fence, swallowed hard, and muttered, “Yeah… that explains the barbed wire.”
