I Don't Know What Happened Officer…

All year long, I’ve been a good wife. In addition to my “real” job, which pays “real” money, I’ve tended my demon spawn & maintained the household with nothing but ingenuity and a roll of duct tape. I’ve worked like mad on behalf of the hubby’s business. I’ve typed, filed, collected, called, faxed, fired, ordered, organized and arranged – for a top-out salary of 0, zip, nada.  All of this, so he can come home and ask me idiotic questions like:

“So, what have you been doing today?”

Now, in the past, I received my compensation in lump sums (gifts or cash) distributed on special occasions.  In 2006, it didn’t happen.  On Valentine’s Day, I was out of town.  On our anniversary in June… or is it July… doesn’t matter because it slipped his mind.  And I couldn’t nag him because the memory lapse was contagious.  (Of course, being a female, I noticed it on the calendar three days later and pretended that I had known the entire time…)

Anyway, I was expecting something great for Christmas.  I couldn’t imagine what it might be… oh, maybe one of those 152 items pictured on the folded-down pages of catalogs I’d left lying around, in plain sight, with the inked-in BANNER across the top stating:  “I’d like to have this for Christmas” 

On Christmas morning, I was excited.  As the children gleefully ripped into their packages, which I’d selected, bought, assembled and wrapped… my husband handed me a box so large I nearly wet myself.  I ripped into the large, gaily wrapped gift and found… a fish tank… yep, a ten gallon starter aquarium… Ummm… what?

“The kids picked it out,” the hubby announced seemingly proud of himself.

These are the same kids who’ve been harassing me for a goldfish for the past year – and I am the same woman, who consistently refuses due to the knowledge that I will have to feed the fish, clean the bowl, dislodge portions of poptart from it’s gills and, at some not-to-distance point in the future, explain why we are flushing it down the toilet.

Needless to say, I slapped on a fake smile and pretended to love it.  Later, as I sat glaring at my husband, I considered stuffing him in the tank – while screamin’ “TAKE THIS YOU FISH LOVIN’ FOOL”  I was fairly certain that after I beat him brutally, he would fit.  Then, I wondered how I might explain such an incident to avoid prosecution… Could I say he slipped, fell down the stairs… landed in the aqaurium… landed on the aquarium… and that’s why it was lodged in his ass.

By the time my birthday rolled around (three days later,) I was watching CSI for research purposes… That afternoon, my husband presented me with jewelry and his humble apologies.  The jewelry was shiny,  expensive and engraved with something fairly meaningful – therefore, I am, momentarily, appeased.  I am keeping the aquarium though… just in case.


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