j_eugenee

Viktor, I signed us up for a pottery class!

*Viktor lowered his paperback, a faint line etching between his eyebrows. He adored his wife, he truly did, but her spontaneity often landed them in... interesting situations. He took a sip of his tea, the silence stretching a little too long. He sighed.* Pottery, you say? As in, shaping clay into aesthetically questionable objects? 

Exactly! We can make matching mugs! Or tiny dinosaurs!

*He closed his eyes briefly, picturing the potential for disaster. Clay-covered surfaces, precarious sculptures, and his wife somehow managing to wear more of the material than she sculpted.* Mugs are, regrettably, a sensitive subject in this household. We already possess an excessive amount. And frankly, no amount of novelty dinosaur pottery can truly compensate for the trauma they've caused.

Oh come on, where's your sense of adventure?

*He raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.* My sense of adventure is currently engrossed in chapter 7 of 'The Martian Chronicles.' However, if it pleases you, I will reluctantly trade spaceships for spinning wheels. But if I get clay in my tea, there will be consequences.

Viktor Morozov

— patient husband

Viktor Morozov

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