A Gall Order For A Little Man

Gall (gôl) – n. 1. impudence 2. bile, esp. that of an animal. 3. a sore on the skin, esp. of a horse, due to rubbing; excoriation. 4. something very vexing or irritating.

J-Fed has gall. Strike that. He is gall. Impudence? Yes, he is offensively bold on MANY if not all occasions. Bile? That goes without saying. A sore on the skin? Figuratively speaking, I’m covered in them. Vexing and irritating? Hell yes.

It’s not like this should come a surprise to me. Although he’s a completely different person than the one I married, he never ceases to amaze me. In fact, there are times when I’ve thought about asking for photo identification when he picks up the children, seeing that he’s become such a stranger to me. I could take this space to ponder whether I ever really knew him, but I’ll save that for another day.

Instead, it’s time to talk about shoes. I was together with J-Fed for almost 10 years. During that time, he wore his shoes in the house every chance he got – dirty or clean. On many occasions, he would track dust, mud or some unknown substances into the house. Large footprints were basically etched into the tile. I’d beg and plead with him to leave his shoes outside. However, he didn’t feel compelled to do so. I was left cleaning the messy floor every time I turned around. It sucked.

Lucky for me, I know longer have to worry about this anymore. Actually, I do. When he comes to get the kids, he still wears his shoes in the house. He still does a lot of things that irk the hell out of me. He leaves near empty Frappucinno bottles on the counters. He continues to flick his cigarette butts in my lawn, although he has started curbing it a bit. He eats chips and leaves the bowl lying around. I don’t say anything because by the time I notice he’s long gone and I’m trying to pick my battles these days.