Rogue’s Gallery

I stomped downstairs this morning to confront my husband.

“YOU PUNCHED ME IN THE BACK LAST NIGHT. REALLY HARD.”

“Oh,” he said looking sheepish, “I know.”

I raised an eyebrow so high I almost got a muscle cramp.

“Let me explain.”

“There’s no explanation for domestic abuse.”

“I was having a dream that I was playing frisbee with the kids,” he hastened to say, “And I was doing that move I like to do,

IMG_5242and I guess I actually made the movement with my arm. It woke me up immediately,  (Ummm…ME TOO!!!!!) and I realized what had happened.”

“Well, it still hurts! Really bad. And the psychic wound hurts maybe even more!”

At that moment my son came down the stairs.

“Did you know your dad punched me in the back last night?”

WHAT?” he gasped with gratifying horror.

“Yes, that’s right, your father punched the woman who gave birth to you and your siblings. In the back. While she was fast asleep.”

The perpetrator of the nefarious crime leapt to his own defense.

“ACTUALLY!” he said, pointing to his son, “It was YOUR fault!

IMG_5237 (1)“How is this MY fault?” the poor boy asked, with perfectly understandable indignation.

“YOU’RE the one who wanted me to play frisbee with you.”

IMG_5245 (1)

reliving the shame

Sad. Very sad.

 

Is that so wrong? Part 1

People are always telling me how lucky I am to be married to such a great guy. Sure, he’s loving, witty, intelligent, handsome, charming, generous, kind, a good father, blah blah blah…but what people don’t know is how unfathomably cruel he can be. He has had multiple affairs, and just last night, he told me he wanted a divorce. Never mind that this has only ever happened in my dreams. It stings nonetheless.

This morning I met up with him in the kitchen.

“You look so beautiful,” he said to me, as if nothing at all had happened.

I crossed my arms and skewered him with my iciest stare.

“Quit trying to butter me up after what you did to me last night.”

His face fell and he said, “Oh no. Did you have another dream?”

“Last night in my dream you told me you wanted a divorce.”

He immediately started sputtering and stammering some nonsense about it not being his fault…

I held my hand up to stop him.

“After seventeen years of marriage and three beautiful children, I deserve better than this.”

I flounced off to feel pissy and aggrieved for the rest of the day.

Is that so wrong?