Someone asked why I married her if I knew she was performing. Because the moments when she slipped were the most alive things in the room. She gets pink at the ears when she forgets a wine region. She secretly googles jokes she didn’t catch. She hates olives and eats them politely anyway, then comes home and drinks chocolate milk like she’s committing a crime. She isn’t my perfect wife. She’s my wife. I woke up late.