K__ was really short on the phone this weekend. At first, I figured it was because when she called to say goodnight to I__, we were still out finishing up dinner. Keeping a consistent schedule is important for little kids, especially bedtime. But half-an-hour here or there isn’t going to hurt anybody.
Anyway, she sounded really over the top. It’s not like I care exactly so much as I wanted the opportunity to say, “what in the fuck is your problem?!” should, you know, the shoe fit. I told her she sounded upset and rather than actually address my question, she quickly veered into giving me a hard time because I__ had called her an asshole the other night.
Speaking of well fitting shoes.
My wife and I both have potty mouths and we agreed we’d have to stop when we had kids. To her credit, she’s probably done a better job of this than I have. Now, anything like this is automatically my fault. But not this time. I tried to tell her over the phone, but she wasn’t hearing anything I had to say. I was in a good mood after a couple beers, and the calming knowledge that I__ would soon be asleep. I emailed it to her instead. For your entertainment, I now present:
An Open Letter To My Wife On the Occasion of Our Son Directing Profanity At Her
let’s clarify some things, so you don’t continue to go through life with some ill-concieved notion of How Things Are.
I don’t call you an asshole. It never occurs to me to say that.
When, in a moment of weakness, I utter profanities about you,
you are a “fucking bitch.” If I__ were to repeat something I’d said,
that’s what he’d say.
Instead, he calls you an “asshole” which, I believe, is highly likely
to emanate from your own lips, in reference to me as he’s called me this
*plenty* of times. Let me repeat: *plenty*.
Plenty.
That’s *your* chickens coming home to roost. Not mine.
enjoy!
God. Damn. That felt good. I’m still grinning about the cosmic justice of it.
This morning, I dropped I__ off at school, and then went over to her place to drop off his things. Her car wasn’t there, but a long weekend’s worth of newspapers were on the front walk. Probably went on (another) trip with her boyfriend instead of doing something productive like working on those job skills.
Fucking bitch.