So I come home from work tonight. Wife is at the computer and I'm about to make dinner when she says, "Can you give me just twenty minutes in the kitchen? I know I've had all day but I haven't had a chance to clean it up yet. It'll only take me twenty minutes and then you can go ahead and cook."
Sure, hell, why not? So I let her go do stuff in the kitchen. I poke at my e-mail but there isn't much. And I wander aimlessly into the bedroom. The covers of the bed are tossed every which way in a complete jumble. Usually she at least has the bed made when I get home, so I assume she really hasn't had any time all day. I wonder ... hello, what's this? Ewww, gross ... it's somebody's butt-stain* on my side of the bed, right about where somebody's butt would be if he were lying in bed with his head on the pillow. And it sure as hell wasn't there this morning.
I really couldn't care less whom she's fucking, but I don't want to have to sleep on the sofa. So I wait till she's done in the kitchen and then ask her, "I don't want to know whose this is, but could you ask him to be more careful next time? And can you do something about it before bedtime?"
She tenses up and says, "Yes, I saw it there and I knew all about it -- and I was going to change the sheets this evening anyway! And just for the record ...."
I flee the room quickly. Any sentence that follows the words "just for the record" is a sentence I don't want to hear. But she does change the sheets, and puts the smeared ones in the washing machine. Good thing.
* As if he really hadn't wiped quite well enough and it had just rubbed off in the course of tossing about.
No comments:
Post a Comment