Bekah has it figured out.
We went out for dinner to celebrate our anniversary. The restaurant delivered our dinner rolls; we cut them open to spread on some butter when Bekah made a discovery.
"See," she said, pointing at our bread, "this is what is wrong with our marriage."
I looked at my roll, and then at hers. I had split my roll into a top half and a bottom half. Bekah cut hers into two halves: a right side and a left side.