Child At Heart

The honeymoon is over and Dr. J-Fed has replaced Hyde. I’ve decided that he’s the devil. Apparently, the good J-Fed got lost somewhere in the mountains, never to be seen or heard from again. I had a brief memorial service last night and tossed the remaining ashes from his cigarettes into the garbage in a fitting send off. I went to wipe away a tear but then I realized it was bird poo and I simply chuckled.

Bird poo was nothing when you’ve been crapped on by your significant other repeatedly. I guess what brought out the monster was his upcoming trip overseas. J-Fed is going international, and that means preparation, something he’s never done by himself. Yesterday, my phone rang no less than 10 times. Was the cell phone set up for international calling? Was he going to be able to use his credit card? Was he fixed for socks and underwear?

J-Fed, how the hell do I know? You need information, call 411 bucko. Of course, I did have answers to two of his three questions, but I didn’t really feel he was worthy of  my help seeing that he was so full of piss and vinegar. For all I cared, he could get lost in London and stay there. And if the Eiffel Tower fell on him and squished him like an itty, bitty pancake, I’d do my own personal rendition of Lord of the Flies. Unfortunately, my parents informed me the Eiffel Tower wouldn’t be falling on J-Fed because he is in London and it is in France.

Needless to say, I didn’t pass up on the opportunity to point out what an ass he was being.

“You’ve been a moody jerk. Damn,” I said.

I mean women have PMS. What the hell was his excuse? That’s when he came clean.

“Do you know how hard this is? I have to get ready for this trip ALL BY MYSELF. I’ve been running around. I’ve had to pack. I’ve had to get everything ready for my trip. Usually you do all of these things for me. Now I have to do it,” he whined.