She Asked for One Compliment… Bob Chose Survival Instead

Mildred stormed out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel like a queen in crisis.

“I just saw myself n*k*d in the mirror,” she declared, clutching her robe like it might shield her from emotional damage. “And I look like hell. Bob, give me a nice compliment to lift my spirits.”

Bob, parked in his usual chair with a crossword and exactly zero intention of getting up, barely looked up.
“Your eyesight is perfect.”

There was a pause. The kind of pause that happens before either a slap or a sigh.

Mildred squinted at him. “Was that sarcasm?”

He turned a page. “Wasn’t trying to be.”

She huffed. “I carried your children. I ironed your socks. I made you soup when you were sick. And this is the thanks I get?”

Bob looked up. “You used canned soup, Mildred.”
“I heated it!”
“And I appreciated it,” he replied. “Just like I appreciate that after 42 years, you still think I’m brave enough to lie.”

She gave him a look sharp enough to butter toast. “So, no compliment?”

Bob smiled slyly. “Of course there is.”

She waited.

He finally said, “At least the mirror survived.”