Gemotions

The flimsy notebook lay open on the kitchen counter, its spiral binding warped from overuse. Amelia, perched on a stool, scanned the childish scrawl with a pursed lip. "Ride a mechanical bull?" she muttered, her eyebrow arching high. Honestly. After five years, *this* was what occupied his innermost thoughts.

She flipped a page, her fingers tapping impatiently against the paper. A bullet point read, "Learn to play the ukulele." Of course. Another frivolous pursuit to add to the pile. He'd probably buy one and let it gather dust, like that art kit she'd gotten him for his birthday, still wrapped in its cellophane.

The kettle whistled, cutting through the silence. Amelia glared at it. She'd put the kettle on for tea, as usual, but the mere thought of sharing this house, this life, with someone who valued such inanities filled her with a simmering irritation.