Andréa/Miranda
“Don’t be ridiculous, Andrea. I mean really, do I need to schedule you for eye surgery?” Miranda snapped. “If you can’t tell that this toast is burnt, then I have to assume you’re going blind.” She dripped the offensive item on her plate and dusted her hands. “Intolerable. You’ve completely ruined my appetite.” She moved to stand.
“Excuse me?” Andréa asked in a deadly tone. “Sit back down.”
Miranda froze, indecisive.
“I don’t care how shitty your week was. You’re not going to speak to me like this in our home after I’ve made you breakfast. I said sit down.” She barked.
Miranda sat abruptly, her chest heaving.
“As much I loathe repeating myself, you’ve burnt my toast. It is inedible and I – f”
“That’s enough, Miranda. If you had asked nicely, i’d have made you another one. But now you’re going to sit there and eat what i’ve made for you. You’re going to do the dishes by hand and then you’re going to come to me and apologize.”
‘I’ll do no such thing.” Miranda spluttered and stood up. “It’s not my fault you’re incompetent.”
Andy sighed. “Fine. Go upstairs.”
Miranda blinked.
“Andrea, no. Not..not today.”
“Go. Upstairs.” She said and removed the plate from the table.
Miranda pouted but did as she was told.
She paced the bedroom and mumbled all while wringing her hands. When the door clicked open she paused mid step and turned to face her wife.
“Brat.” She said simply and Miranda scowled.
“You know I hate it when you call me that.”