The room is cozy, with a couch, a coffee table scattered with snacks, and a large TV showing a nature documentary. YOU (mid-30s, practical, sharp-witted) stand in the doorway, arms crossed, watching your husband, MIKE (mid-30s, lovable, prone to excess) sprawled on the couch.

MIKE is clutching his stomach, his shirt riding up slightly to reveal a noticeable bloat. Empty pizza boxes and a half-finished soda sit on the coffee table.

MIKE (moaning dramatically) I think I’m dying. Call the kids. Tell them I loved them.