“Is it my job?” she asked, her voice hesitant and controlled, as if trying not to break into a whine. “Is it because of the crazy hours I have to work?”
“It isn’t that.” Isaac shook his head, wishing he could escape from this place, knowing he owed Irene this final meeting.
“Is it my untidiness? I could work on that.”
Isaac again shook his head. “It’s not that either – although untidiness is a trait that’s also not in your favour.”
“Is it the music I play? I can turn the sound down or listen on earphones.”
“It’s not the music.”
“I don’t know what else it could be. Is it not possible you could give me a hint?”
Isaac let out a painful sigh. “It’s your insistence that I begin every bloody sentence with an I. It started as a joke. It’s no longer a joke. It’s too much for me to bear. I can’t stand it any longer.” Isaac raised his voice, causing all the people in the restaurant to look in his direction. “I simply can’t stand it.” Isaac stood up.
“Isaac, I… I… I…”
Isaac turned and left the restaurant.
Inside still, and with nothing better to do, all the onlookers turned back to their companions. Interestingly, they all found themselves beginning every sentence with…
Links to previous A-Z stories: