The Rhyme of the Ancient Moron
The World According To Kiki & J-Fed
J-Fed just walked through the door to put in his daily appearance. No, he didn’t knock. He never does. He’s tired and rubbing his eyes. He just crawled into bed and settled in for a nice long nap. This is no joke. This is reality. Did I mention he’s tired? I’m not sure from what. You see, he’s just been relaxing at his “home.” But that wasn’t good enough. He’s come to my home to settle into the bed formerly known as ours for a brief respite. Talk about having the best of both worlds…
As I look at him drifting off into la la land, I’m a bit confused. He’s quite comfortable in our bed, as if he’s never left. Once I’ve reminded myself that this lug did indeed leave me, I quickly squash the urge to grab an empty Perrier bottle from next the nighstand and smash it over his head repeatedly. After all, that would be illegal and I’m almost certain my therapist would not be pleased. Besides, there would be blood and that’s far too messy. Arsenic anyone?
Just when I think I might be able to get away with smothering him to death, he rolls over with a big wide grin and says those three magical words, obviously oblivious to the down pillow I’m holding over his face.
“What’s for dinner?” he purrs.
I look around for a camera crew. Is this some sort of joke? J-Fed lying in my bed, asking me what’s for dinner? Once again it’s time to break out the old handbook of rules and regulations for leaving your wife. Rule #1 – the bed is barely cold; don’t crawl back in. I’ve already got a replacement in line who will be more than happy to warm it up. Rule #2 – I don’t know what’s for dinner; what are you cooking yourself dipstick? Rule #3 – Love don’t live here anymore and neither do you.
I’ve come to realize that married, separated or divorced, J-Fed will always be my husband. He is the albatross around my neck. Too bad, nobody told J-Fed that although many sailors were superstitious of bringing harm to the albatross that didn’t stop them from killing the bird and eating it.
Hmmmm, maybe J-Fed and I do have dinner plans after all.
