Never let it be said that I don’t give that man credit for how difficult his life is.
I mean, the rewards are great—let’s not dramatize his situation unnecessarily… after all, he gets to live with me—but I am aware that the difficulties are not insignificant. Many a man before him failed to impress, and even the shiny, stalwart ones couldn’t keep up or threw up their hands and blamed me (huffing and puffing as they did, proving the real issue was that they couldn’t keep up) for their sudden embrace of all things Quitter.
So yes, I understand that Husband has got his hands full with me. However, he’ll be the first to tell you—in alarmed tones, since you’ve brought up a weird topic that has nothing to do with the discussion at hand, which was supposed to be whether or not they’re finally going to kill off Steve Rogers in the new Avengers movie*—that one thing I am not is more work than I’m worth.
I would also like to point out that I’m not the only, or even the main reason his life is difficult. I’m not even talking about his chronic pain, either. No… I’m blaming other people, because that’s kind of my thing. But this time it’s totally justified!
ME: Right. I’m gonna go… down… staaaairrrrss… (sneaks toward door)
OFFSPRING: Nope! It is past your bedtime young lady!
ME: (stares, slowly moves downstairs)
OFFSPRING: Don’t you do it! Don’t you go down those stairs! Don’t you go all the way down! Don’t you turn off that light! Don’t you turn on that TV! Don’t—don’t you touch that remote! Stop! Put that—NO!
ME: Where’s the controller?
OFFSPRING: (takes both controllers) I should make you play with the remote.
ME: (pages Husband) Are you coming down?
HIM: Yeah, I can do that.
OFFSPRING: It’s past your bedtimes!
ME: He’s trying to make me play with the remote!
HIM: Don’t do that! It’s bad for the—I’m coming down, I’ll explain.
ME: (to Offspring) Ha! (takes controller, flops on couch)
OFFSPRING: (pushes random buttons on remote)
SCREEN: (flashes weird symbol)
ME: What did you do?!?
OFFSPRING: (stomps upstairs laughing)
ME: TELL ME WHAT YOU DID!!
HIM: (explains something to Offspring upstairs)
ME: My wrist hurts (massages wrist with teeth, as hands are busy with controller)
HIM: (comes downstairs with Offspring)
ME: TELL ME WHAT YOU DID, DAMMIT! (continues gnawing wrist) Ow!
ME: (around mouthful of wrist) TELL ME RIGHT NOW!
HIM: WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?!?!
OFFSPRING: I didn’t do anything—
HIM: I come down here and she’s yelling and in pain and like this (mimics my pose)
ME: (removing wrist from mouth) Hey!
HIM: —You’re damned right I want to know what’s going on! Stop laughing right now, because hurting your mother isn’t funny!
OFFSPRING: I didn’t do anything to her! I just pressed the Home button!
ME: A circle with a slash through it popped up on my screen, and I wanted to know what he did.
OFFSPRING: But you can’t go back to the Home screen while your game is loading, so it—
HIM: Then what about your wrist?!?!
ME: Oh. (presents wrist, now very red) It hurts.
ME: So I was trying to massage between the little bones, and my teeth are—
HIM: I understand. I HAVE TOO MANY KIDS!
ME: Nuh-uh! I’m a CAT!
* We’re not calling him Captain America anymore—he quit that job, and he was pretty shit at it anyway. Everything about him was shit, always has been. Never speak of him again in my presence, unless you’ve got a gun and a plan.