Waiting To Blame

I never once took him for granted. Although he would have told you otherwise, that son of a bitch.  “You don’t care about me. “ He would whine after an argument that began over dirty dishes and backed up toilets.

Don’t get me wrong he was a good man in the beginning when he rode me hard and kept his mouth shut. But soon after we married he began to feel and in feeling he began to smother me with questions of whether or not I loved him. Did I need him? Why wasn’t I coming home at night? I mean shit, I can only take so much questioning before I bark, “Look sissy, I don’t give a shit if you feel like I should snuggle you more after sex or spend time with you at night balancing the check book! If I wanted someone so damn soft and pink I would be with a woman!”

A spine, yes a spine is what he needs and I just don’t have the time or energy to give it to him. If he beat me I’d be better off. At least then I could call him a man. At least then I could look him in the eye . Shit,  I’d even let the fear keep me home. Something. Anything to keep me home. Right now all that resides there is his damn pathetic whine. Waiting to blame me and beg me not take his love for granted.

Me? Take anything for granted? See, it goes to show that mother fucker doesn’t know me at all. Not one bit. 

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