She stood atop the small stepladder. She gently shook a small plastic container over the open tank, sprinkling colorful flakes into the bubbling water below.
Feeding the fish. Her daily ritual.
He sat off in the corner of their restaurant with a fresh mug, shaking his head. Always taking her sweet time, this one.
Drinking coffee and observing. His daily ritual.
He had much to be thankful for though. Few wives would give up a comfortable life and move back for his ailing parents and their struggling restaurant.
But she handled it gracefully and without complaint.
A keeper, this one.
The Weekday One Hundred 