Diálogo amistoso

—You shouldn't get used to this. I don't cook for anyone, not even for myself. —said Guajis as she checked on the omelette on the stove.
—It's OK, I know —Hime said this with the kind of look on her face that made Guajis want to investigate further—. A couple of weeks ago, I had to make brakfast for him.
—And how did you feel?
—Married —they said in unison. It was fun to see them both in the kitchen improvising a meal.
—So you gave him a taste of what it would be like to be married to you.
—You make it sound as if I gave him a sample.
—Not just a sample, but a free sample.
—I didn't notice I was taking the surrendered wife's role —she choked a bit when she said these last words—, how disturbing. At that moment it seemed right.
—Of course it did, free samples are the ideal hook for compromising with something that will never be as good.
—So you think I should quit these displays of abnegation in order for him to stop finding me in this manner available?
—All I'm saying is that you should take one last good look at this picture. I don't cook. Not even for myself.