My Toxic Woman

I have always had hoarder tendencies. I hold on to things until I am completely sure that their utility is depleted. Sometimes it takes me too long to reach this realization but that’s just the way I am. Other reasons for hoarding include sentimental value and attached memories. Recently, I came across a piece I wrote five years ago by hand and it is in my opinion gold enough to be immortalized here.
My woman said I spend too much time with my friends. She said I do not give her as much attention and she’s beginning to feel unloved; She no longer feels special to me. As the good man I am I decided to blow off my friends on a night she least expected me to. I drove home with a bouquet, a bottle of wine and unreasonably priced confectionary. My boo was going to get the pampering of a lifetime that night. “I see you brought liquor. Can’t you stand me when you’re sober?” She then stormed off, leaving me feeling more clueless than a monkey in a suit. I swear I can’t live with this woman.
So I poured myself a tall glass of the wine I’d bought her and sat to watch TV. I might as well catch the game I was missing for this psychotic woman. Halfway through, she came back to the living room in nothing but my favourite shirt. It was unbuttoned in all the right places. Her hair was undone and her makeup fresh. “Who’s winning?” She asked. “Me, apparently,” I replied, not knowing what the hell was happening. She sat on my lap and kissed me on my lips. “I’m sorry I overreacted. I love you for trying.” Before I could get a grasp on things the TV was off and she was cat walking towards the bedroom. I swear I cannot live without this woman.
We were going out to dinner one evening when I committed the mortal sin of wearing denim. I was forced to change and heard nothing the rest of the night except her unending lecture on what to wear and when to wear to it. I took this to mean we’re the kind of partners that can offer constructive criticism. My assertion was crushed when I criticized her dress on a different occasion. I might have gone too far with the jokes, because what ensued then was a stream of obscenities followed by sobbing in the bathroom. Living with this woman is impossible.
Incessant begging and flattering got her to open the door. The apology was long and difficult. The resistance was strong. My two left feet were even forced to perform a dance by this Hitler incarnate. Finally, she giggled and told me since I had made it clear her grooming skills were subpar I was to wash and dress her myself. We almost never made it out of the house. I swear I cannot live without this woman.

11 thoughts on “My Toxic Woman

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  1. Let us start with the fact that you might be the one in that photo. Is that you?
    I love this piece. One day you can’t live the woman and one day you can, haha…that got me.
    I love your work, keep doing u.

    Liked by 2 people

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