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.