Bride of Frankenstein
The doctor emerged from the basement. It was lunch time; he headed to the kitchen, washed his hands, and then started poking around in the refrigerator.
After a moment, he heard a familiar voice behind him.
“Hey–I don’t mean to be a nagging wife, but I gotta ask: WHAT are you doing down there? You got Igor coming and going all hours of the day and night, always carrying jars of God-only-knows-what. I mean, that guy has always kind of creeped me out, but he’s been especially shifty-eyed lately…and I gotta say, I don’t really care for him having all-hours access to our place. I understand you’ve been working some late nights, but can’t you do the overtime yourself? Or at least ask him nicely to wipe his feet before he marches through the house? Honestly, I have things to do other than Swiffering up his muddy footprints.
And–no offense–but whatever you’re doing smells like death. Could you do me a favor and leave your lab coat downstairs when you’re done working or taking a break? Or at least hit it with some Febreze? That foul smell–whatever it is–clings to your coat, and it’s a smell I especially don’t want or need in our kitchen.”
The doctor emerged from the fridge with two arms full of sandwich fixings and condiments and headed over to the counter to put them down and find some bread. On his way there, he said, “Honey, please–I’m on my lunch break. I don’t wanna talk shop right now.”
Mrs. Frankenstein rolled her eyes and turned to leave, saying “Fine–I’m going out” over her shoulder as she exited the kitchen.
The doctor sat down to eat and heard the front door slam. She obviously wasn’t happy, and he understood why. But he just hadn’t yet thought of a good way to break it to her that he was re-animating corpses.