Mark Greaves as a husband would be like:
(Scene: Mark and Emily sitting at the breakfast table, eating their breakfast).
Mark Greaves: Oh, light of my life, purpose of my entire being, my gracious ray of moonlight, will you stretch out your lovely hand, white as the purest pearl, slender as the caryatids holding the ceilings of the Athenian Erechtheion and graceful as the wind dancing among the mountain peaks, and pass me the golden gift of milking cows, obtained thanks to the breakneck work of human hands, which contemporary prose writers call in a way that does not respect nor value its wonderful, creamy consistency, depth of flavour and extraordinary aesthetic values?
Emily: -
Mark Greaves: Cheese, I mean.
I'd like to tag @batrachised , @the-piper-and-the-lion and @moonlightredfern , whose wonderful cheese and/or Mark Greaves posts inspired that silly idea of mine).
