Hi friends!
I am happy to respond to 
The prompt
"Ugh! The bread is soaking wet! Bread is not supposed to be soaking wet!" he snarled at me as he spit a soggy mouthful of half-chewed peanut butter sandwich into a tissue. I stood at attention next to his bed. He handed the sodden and heavy tissue to me.
He was now vegan, grain free, nightshade free, lectin free, phytic acid free, and deaf to my feeble protestations. He was not free, however, from his acutely tuned palate, which was maddeningly different from mine.
He had requested a peanut butter sandwich. I knew meeting all his new diet criteria would be a bitch, but I rose to the challenge. I had to.
I chose a very small ten-dollar loaf of 'bread' and bought it. I bought some raw peanuts. I shelled the peanuts. I soaked, sprouted, and dehydrated the peanuts. After very lightly roasting them, I ground those peanuts into peanut butter. I then very carefully smeared the freshly ground peanut butter onto the somewhat normal looking bread. I made sure to get the peanut butter to the edges just like I had learned in home economics class long, long ago.
I knew how to make a proper tea sandwich.
I now spent my life trying to make this man happy. I signed up for that didn't I? Wasn’t that my reason for being? To make this man happy?
Well, he was not happy with that sandwich.
My continuation
It was long since we were everything for each other. Back then, I loved cooking for him and seeing him happy and well-fed. A path to man’s heart comes through his stomach.
Well, I captured his heart. Now what? Over the years, we’ve grown apart and gone our separate ways. He stopped doing little nice things for me like bringing me flowers or taking me for a surprise romantic dinners. Everything that left from those times was the memories.
Well, not only the memories but also expectations; his expectations.
How could I imagine in the times when we’ve dated, that he will end up being like this: rude, demanding, dry like a crouton. Besides, now, he’s also bedridden and, thus, three times more demanding and, honestly, annoying as hell.
Is the purpose of my life in making this man happy?
Hey Mr. God? Don’t I have a higher purpose than that or just because I came out of his rid so to speak, I am destined always make him ribs or, in this case, a peanut butter sandwich.
I don’t think so. Right, Mr. God? I don’t hear your answer, but I guess the silence is a sign of an agreement. For I am sure should you have objected, you’d find the way of letting me know.
So what can I do? What can I possibly do to rid myself of these obligations? To live for me. I could find thousands of interesting things to do. If only I could be ridden of this demanding vegetable, that veganny, grain-free, nightshade-free, lectin-free, phytic acid-free vegetable.
Wait… what if? I am just saying "theoretically", just as a hypothesis… What if he’d eat something that is NOT grain-free, NOT nightshade-free, NOT lectin-free, and for sure NOT phytic acid-free? He just needs to take a bite of it and… Well, of course, I’d have to live through some unpleasant moments: police, funerals, different inheritance formalities. But then... then I am free as a bird. Ah, what a wonderful life I will have!
In the morning I will have a cup of the most wonderful coffee, then go feed the ducks at the lake, then go to the gym (I have a couple of extra pounds no one needs to know about). Then deep tissue massage, manicure, pedicure, rest. Then I go to the mall and check the prices. Well, maybe if I see a good outfit I can now buy it and no one is going to snare at me. In the evening, I’ll go to a dancing studio and practice my moves. Then, then… yeah….
But …hm… it’s against the law and children are not going to like it. Ugh! I guess I’ll go and buy for him another loaf of bread for his damn peanut butter sandwich.