Bathroom Monologue: The Grudges

He will cross the state to pick you up when you’ve got nothing left but a hard luck story and your boxers.

She won’t even answer the phone, though the porch light will be on when you drive up.

You are always acutely aware that you’re supposed to do something in their mutual presence, but you’ve never figured out what.

He will forget you blasphemed his Savior two days later.

She will remember you left the toilet seat up two years later.

You are very careful in their bathroom. You once splashed a little water from the sink and made sure to dry it with your shirt to avoid soiling any linens. You noticed her changing the towels five minutes later.

He still reads comic books (Wolverine rules).

She reads James Patterson, but can and will quote Schopenhauer if you piss her off.

You cannot remember what you did to piss her off, but she has seemed pissed off for as long as you’ve known her.

He says she’s got no problem with you.

She says she’s got no problem with you.

You’ve woken up in their guest room multiple times to find the door locked from the outside.

She spends nine hours cooking Thanksgiving supper and talks for two more hours before she lets anybody eat.

He eats Pop Tarts (cherry) straight from the shiny package.

You wonder what the conversations are like after you leave.

He will spend all afternoon in the garage, fixing an engine that works fine. He will claim nothing is wrong.

She will drive to every fertility clinic and seminar possible for an answer.

You wonder if (somehow) she believes you two hanging out is causing this.

She would throw a lamp at you if you asked that.

He’s pretty sure she would, anyway. He’ll be right back – he has to look for the key to this stupid door, but you can climb out through the window if it takes too long.

You wonder, sometimes, how their marriage has lasted.

He gets quiet, but he always does what she asks.

She always buys more of those Pop Tarts.