Why I Am A Bad Wife
Why I am a bad wife, in no particular order.
- I just cleaned the toilet. I can’t remember the last time I scrubbed it, but MTM caught me, motoring away with the brush in my hand, bedecked in my flannel pajamas with the cardinals all over them.
- I’m sure I was fetching.
- I asked MTM for the four million, two hundred and seventy-eight thousand, four hundred and fifty-fifth time, if my next book will make me.
- He said yes. Because, he is the most amazing and long suffering husband of all time.
- I then proceeded to talk about fake people for at least two hours, all through our sushi dinner and over drinks and a homemade pop tart afterward. He humored me, because he still likes having COFFEE. With me. Even though I wear cardinal-crusted flannel pajamas that are not exactly clean and babble about the voices in my head. For days. And days.
- I cannot fathom why he would want to sleep with me, ever again.
- The drinks he bought me made me more talkative, which was not a Good Thing.
- When MTM asked me if he had any clean underwear several days ago, I did not compute that I needed to do laundry. Instead, in a down-to-the-wire fog, I asked him what one of my characters would do in the same situation.
- We talked about more fake people for at least three hours.
- MTM went commando for several days, while I wandered around the house in a stupor.
- And cried.
- And talked about more fake people.
- And drank.
- And stared out the window.
- And cried some more.
- (All I have to say at this point is, if you only download free books or check out books from the library or take them on loan from your fourth cousin once removed and refuse to compensate the people who wrote them, YOU MIGHT WANT TO RETHINK YOUR INVESTMENTS.)
It is MTM’s Birthday Month. He deserves better than a shade of a wife who natters on about the people who live inside her head, who sobs and blows her nose into her hands while she wears not-clean cardinal pajamas and does shots because she will miss the fake people in her book when she finishes another draft, while her editor takes them and slashes them to shreds.
Dear Reader, what can I do to be a better, Birthday Month Wife to my dear MTM?