Im So Good At Not Killing Myself

A husband and wife eat a bland dinner together in a dimly-lit kitchen. They don't speak or look at each other. The meal: a pathetic Salisbury steak.

Cut to their bedroom at night. The wife lays sleeping in the bed while in the background the husband is putting on her dress, pantyhose, pearl necklace, heels, makeup, and a wig. When he's done he quietly leaves the room. The wife opens her eyes as soon as she's sure he's gone.

Now we're in a seedy dive bar. A small crowd of mustachioed men wearing leather jackets, black boots, and sunglasses sip beers and puff cigarettes while the "show" unfolds. Camera pans down, then pans to the side. Between the black boots we see the husband on his hands and knees, greedily eating a Chipotle Chorizo Burrito Bowl with Cilantro Lime Rice from a plastic dog bowl on the floor. His makeup is ruined, face smeared with sour cream and hot sauce.

A man steps forward. The husband looks up, and his expression changes to that of a deer in the headlights. Cut to reveal that the "man" standing before the husband is none other than his wife, in elaborate drag as a Tom of Finland biker, false mustache and officer cap and all. She smiles warmly, and nods. The husband smiles too, and resumes his meal.