There it was again, that great slurping sound. My annoyance with the great git in the Lazyboy amplified the sound in my head a thousand times. It was unbearable. He motioned by tapping the side of his coffee cup that he wanted more. He hadn’t actually asked for another cup verbally in years. I might as well be a coffee table.
I looked at him from the kitchen and wondered what on earth he was thinking. He had a sort of smug self-satisfaction plastered on his fat face. The look was almost perverse, dirty, or perhaps those were the memories of last night. Just imagine that great heap in the middle of a hot and sticky night suddenly being”in the mood”. Luckily it never lasted long or I would have died of suffocation long ago. As soon as he was done I showered for nearly and hour, trying to get him off and out of me.
That was him, the once great love of my life. He sighed with great satisfaction after having relieved himself of another round of particularly pungent flatulence. I hated him. I had hated him a very long time now, it had grown ever so much worse hen the kids were grown. There was nothing to take attention away from just the fact of living with him, his habits, mostly just him.
It did no good to remember how I had once loved him. if anything it made it worse. He had taken beauty and trampled it to bits. Love was now a dung pile, and I had to find contentment in living in it? That great swine of course, was happy living like this. why not his coffee was served him, his clothes washed and his baser urges satisfied. My soul was screaming for liberation. I had thought of dumping the coffee on him “oops”, but feared the back of his hand, his piggy piggy hand. So I set it down, picked up my book on poisons from the table, and sat next to the window reading, learning, plotting.
life is a dance with the reaper 