Last night, an awful “bug” hit me hard, and for the first time ever, I didn’t even have the desire for alcohol!
Today, I feel rather zombie-like, which is quite frustrating, but I’ll be back to work tomorrow, where it won’t be an issue since I’ll blend in. It’s moments like these—on a cold, dark evening while feeling ill—that I reflect on living alone and think, thank Heavens for that! No one to drive me crazy.
Even as a lifelong singleton, I certainly noticed the warning signs earlier than my next-door neighbor did today. As I completed my regular 11am ritual, I overheard the neighbor cleaning his windows, and his wife asked him,
Mrs X: Are you coming inside now?
Mr X: Yes
Mrs X: But there are streaks all over the window!
Mr X: I can’t see any from my spot.
Mrs X: Well, there are! I don’t understand why you said you’d do it if you weren’t going to do it properly.
Mr X: Alright, calm down (a phrase that’s never wise to use in these kinds of situations, in my opinion). I’ll redo it; you wanted it done today, and you know I’m not feeling well. What are you doing besides watching me?
Mrs X: (paused—one of those dreadful silences filled with an ominous sense of approaching conflict).
Mrs X: Excuse me, excuuuuuuuuuuuuuse me? (It’s hard to convey just how frightening those two words sounded; a clear warning for him to offer a sincere apology).
Mrs X: What am I doing, WHAT AM I DOING? What followed was an exhaustive enumeration of everything Mrs X had accomplished since they moved in nine months ago (including painting the charming flower pots in the front garden), culminating in “I suppose you think you’re a big man because you went out with your mates last night while I couldn’t?”
Mr X: That was the first time I’ve been out in 6 months without you; it was a men-only event, there were no other wives, and you called me 12 times!
Mrs X: But you didn’t answer after the first two!
Mr X: I can’t see any from my spot.
Mrs X: Well, there are! I don’t understand why you said you’d do it if you weren’t going to do it properly.
Mr X: Alright, calm down (a phrase that’s never wise to use in these kinds of situations, in my opinion). I’ll redo it; you wanted it done today, and you know I’m not feeling well. What are you doing besides watching me?
Mrs X: (paused—one of those dreadful silences filled with an ominous sense of approaching conflict).
Mrs X: Excuse me, excuuuuuuuuuuuuuse me? (It’s hard to convey just how frightening those two words sounded; a clear warning for him to offer a sincere apology).
Mrs X: What am I doing, WHAT AM I DOING? What followed was an exhaustive enumeration of everything Mrs X had accomplished since they moved in nine months ago (including painting the charming flower pots in the front garden), culminating in “I suppose you think you’re a big man because you went out with your mates last night while I couldn’t?”
Mr X: That was the first time I’ve been out in 6 months without you; it was a men-only event, there were no other wives, and you called me 12 times!
Mrs X: But you didn’t answer after the first two!
by Jim Aborwhear
