You came home from work early today so you’re just sitting in the kitchen on a bar stool reading when he enters the kitchen. You look up at him just to glare at him, he returns the glare. You notice some bloodstains on his shirt and roll your eyes. You wonder who he killed today. You go back to reading your book, ignoring him as he goes to the pantry. He sighs when he can’t find what he’s looking for. “Do you know where the chips are?” he asks in a cold tone not even turning to face you.