So…you’re sitting watching TV and you glance over to your loving wife who has this look of serious concern on her face. She’s been a little quiet and withdrawn since you got home from work tonight. You’ve tried to give her some space wondering if she just had a bad day. But now it’s later in the evening, and things appear to have worsened.
You wonder if it’s the TV show you’re watching. You wonder if it’s the dream you told her about starring the nubile young co-worker (Note: Yes, he actually did tell me about it.) You wonder if it’s the credit card bill that just arrived that gives tell-tale details about just HOW much money you’ve spent on comic books this month. You wonder if it’s the effect all those cream cakes re having on your mid-section.
You wonder…you wonder…
You cautiously move in closer, wondering if maybe she’s found that stack of magazines featuring the Japanese women who like the black PVC and red lollipops that are hidden behind the shoebox in the closet. Maybe she’s spent this week’s entire food budget on Grey Goose and cranberry juice and she’s trying to think of a good way to tell you. Maybe she’s had bad news earlier in the day that she has yet to share with you. Maybe she’s pregnant. Maybe she’s on lithium. Maybe she been carrying on with half of what’s left of Lynyrd Skynyrd and she’s trying again to remember which kid is theirs.
You nervously clear your throat in an effort to catch her attention as her expression has now moved from serious concern to pissed off angst.
But she’s not catching your movements. She didn’t notice the *ahem* and she didn’t notice the *sigh* and now you REALLY start to worry…
Is she trying to find the way to tell you that it really isn’t as big as she said? Is she trying to figure out if that body buried in that field will decompose before the cops find it? Is she remembering that first kiss and how she should have stuck to her guns and commented on the garlic? Is it terminal? Is it divorce? Is it homicidal? Is it clowns?
It’s all or nothing now….her expression has moved to fervent grief. She looks like she could pick up a bat and start swinging in a kill them all, let God sort them out kind of way.
She’s chewing on her lower lip. She’s clenching her teeth. She’s fidgeting in her seat.
Her toes are wriggling. Her ice blue eyes are narrowing.
You look over at the kids, and silently ask them to wish you luck as you break the lock off Pandora’s box and brace yourself for the onslaught.
“Honey,” you say, trying to find the courage and the breath for words, “what’s wrong? You’ve looked off all night. Like something is bothering you?”
She turns her head to look at you. Dead in the eye. She’s showing teeth. She takes a deep breath.
“Ohhh….I’m stuck on a f***ing sex scene and I can’t figure it out. I mean, I know where this is going and I know what I want them to do but I…just…can’t….get…it….right.”
“Are you sure?” You ask, not believing what you are hearing.
“Of course,” she says, still smiling. “What did you think it was?”