"He comes home, eats and goes to sleep."
"Once I found him sleeping on the stairs in his scrubs on the way up to our bedroom."
"Sex? What sex. It's residency interuptus. How can you have sex when your wife comes home after call and falls asleep? I'm not into sex with a corpse."

So I stood in my boxers in front of the frig contemplating my strawberries, both literal and figurative. I sighed and knew what I had to do for I couldn't change the system. I tried twice before and failed miserably. So I shuffled back into bed with my comatose wife. When I awoke at 6:30 in the morning she was gone and had been for several hours. I got up changed and wrote a brief note sticking it on the front of the fridge before going off to buy her some grocery's to be delivered. It read:

"Dearest: have taken the mold covered strawberries and submitted them to the CDC for further study. I have replaced your experiment with pre cooked steaks, chicken, ready to eat salads, and assorted veggies and fruit. Try not to culture the above." I walked out of the apartment door hearing it slam behind me knowing that this gesture wouldn't make any difference and sighed.