Murder/Suicide

This man turns to our table this morning and says, ‘And are you eighteen?’ to Rich. I wanted to think that he was seeking reinforcement in an existential debate with his wife, but it was probably just because he’s going senile. A good percentage of Boca is, so it wouldn’t be astoundingly tragic if I’m right, just run-of-the-mill depressing. But that’s not what today’s post is about.

Maybe it was because this man continued to stare at my baby (not Rich, but my actual baby) for the duration of breakfast, but I couldn’t help but eavesdrop on their conversation. His poor wife–and who knows, maybe she’s riding the back car of the Sane Train with him–was hissing a repetitive order at him that went something like this: ‘please, just sit still.’

You could see it’d been at least a fifty year journey to this one desperate plea. This man must have a long history of engaging in nonsensical conversation with strangers, and it was killing his wife.

I looked at Rich, with his goofy optimism and cream cheese on his face. This man can’t make it past getting out of bed without risking his life. My nag artillery is cocked and ready at any given moment. ‘are you going to mow the lawn today? of course not because you have to work, or something stupid. Maybe instead of making me a love garden you should be fixing shit around the house. Why are you putting your socks there? Are you shaving? If you leave one f*cking hair on that sink I’m going to come to your work and rape you with my car. Are you laughing? Is that what you want? You want your coworkers to see me tear you in half? You want that? You’d better put your socks in the laundry room. I’M NOT YOUR F*CKING SLAVE, G-DDAMNIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!’ and so on.

Is this man and woman our future? Will I nag Rich into dementia and me out of a complete vocabulary? I must try and make myself understand what has plagued women for centuries: we simply cannot change men. Trying to do so will upend coexistence and repurpose it as imprisonment. You know that AA mantra? G-d grant me the serenity, and so forth? I’m going to start saying it. I don’t want Rich to kill me in my sleep.

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