Sunday, January 23, 2011

nice things

“And this, this is why we cannot have nice things.”
She didn't have to be so patronizing about it. It wasn't like it was anyone's fault.
“And it's all your fault.”
Ok, so maybe it was, but it wasn't intentional.
“You have to learn how to control yourself, these outbursts are getting worse and worse and every time it happens, something breaks; something expensive.”
He stammered and started to apologize until he thought better of it. He wasn't doing anything wrong. He had a problem, and she should be supportive and helpful instead of critical and, well, bitchy. He started getting heated up again. He didn't realize until it was almost too late. He closed his eyes and murmured to himself and tried to settle down. He just needed to relax. Relaaaaax. Fine, but it'd be a hell of a lot easier if she wasn't just waiting for him to slip up so she could yell at him. He swore she loved to yell at him; it almost seemed like it was worth the cost of a vase or a lamp or a table to her, just so she had the opportunity to bust his chops. That bitch. And with that thought, he lost it, again. He burst into flames, charring a black circle onto the new carpet and setting the bedspread ablaze. She threw a bucket of water on him, and then threw the bucket at his face.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

The heat of a thousand suns.

When Joe put his laundry in the dryer, he checked his watch before setting the time. He had about an hour before he needed to be on his way, and he could very well just leave his clothes in the laundry-mat. The were hip, but not hip enough to deter theft all together. Fuck. He put his hands to his forehead and stared at the settings while he tried to figure out how he could solve this problem. Fluff, no heat; Delicates, low heat; Cotton, regular heat. They were all the usuals, except for one that looked strange. He shook his head and did a double take. No, it definitely read “ Crazy, the heat of a thousand suns.” He couldn't believe his luck, with a load this big the heat of a thousand suns was the only way for him to make it to his interview on time. He hauled his laundry in quickly and giggled, giddy with excitement he hadn't felt since the first time he'd done his laundry; the time he realized the machines don't actually fold shirts for you. He set the heat to 'crazy' and turned the switch at which point the world exploded and all sentient life was wiped off the face of the planet.

Friday, January 21, 2011

"But what about our future?"

She looked at me and her eyes sparkled, maliciously. I could see it coming from miles away, one of those awful, sappy, unanswerable, theoretical quest-
"Do you see us together 10 years from now?"
I let loose a quiet sigh, I'd lucked out. This was an easy one.
"Of course, I can see just what it'll be like." Her goddamn eyes just kept sparkling.
"We'll be sitting in our house, well, 'ours' but technically mine because you will have refused to put your name on the mortgage, but still, we'll be in 'our' house, sitting in 'our' matching recliners because Jimmy, our son, will have had an accident on the couch the night before. You'll have control of the remote because I will have already lost the use of my right arm and we both know how bad I am with my left. We'll run out of cheetos again and have another argument where you'll threaten to leave me for Keith, the second one of the day. I'll point out that he doesn't qualify for disability like I do and you'll come around. I'll look deep into your deadened eyes and think about Sasha Grey as I tell you how much I love you. You'll see through it but agree that we should probably stay together for the kids despite how miserable we are, and then we'll pass out during the Miracle Blade infomercial, the one with Chef Tony."
"Awwwwwwww," she cooed. "I didn't even think you thought about the future!"