Ad Hoc Fiction

My Husband

I took husband and put him in a jar. I placed him between the sugar and tea. He looked good there, with his permanent three day beard and birdnest hair. And grimace.
 
I open the jar on Sundays only, when he's well-rested and he won't shout at me like a savage. I take him to the pub. We stroll in the park. Stroke a puppy. I kiss him, he's happy. We stare at the lake. Feed the ducks. I tell him the plan and he nods. I guide him into bed. He's a good boy. We hold hands and watch the sunset.
 
The truth is I can't open the jar. I've tried everything, knives, spoons, gripping with both hands. 'I can't open it from the inside,' he tells me. I shrug. Don't worry, one day we'll have everything worked out.