Bobo got back to the tree after a long, hard day in the jungle. He wearily climbed the vines and entered his living room, exhausted. He saw his wife, bubbles, in the kitchen. The somber clanking of pots and pans couldn’t have drowned out the sound of his arrival, and yet she didn’t turn to greet, or even acknowledge, his return.

“Hi, honey!” he said as he sat down, a glint of optimism barely masking his discontentment. She said nothing. They had grown apart in recent months. Whenever he got back from work, she would quietly, coldly busy herself making dinner, and then they would eat in silence. He had begun to fear that she’d been seeing other monkeys while he was out; just as he had begun to feel inclined to do the same. Their marriage was over, and they both knew it.

Bobo peered over to the kitchen as a familiar smell filled the tree. He let a tired sigh.

“Bananas again?” he said.