Gretchen is the most abusive first wife I've ever had. She's taking Sprocket for a walk down the block, right? Well, since she hasn't showered yet this morning, she refused to get me a cup of coffee at Peet's (large, with heavy whipping cream). I don't see the big deal. It's Sunday morning – people probably expect you to look unkempt. She'd fit right in with all the homeless homies hanging out on the corner. I don't think she looks all that bad, honestly. She never does. Except sometimes. How much do you love your spouse? Enough to fulfill their caffeine dreams? I go down there all the time for her in my flannel and jeans. Granted, I don't wear my jeans to bed, but at least I don't worry THAT much about my public image. Jesus, ain't that the truth?! Instead of arguing with her, I'm just gonna don my Lockergnome-branded cap, take off my shirt, and head down there on my own. I'll even get her something, too – a hot chai. Just because I love her and don't want her to be mad at me when she reads this post. Or do I?