Simple Discussions

"Did you see the dishes in the dishwasher are clean honey?"

"How the fuck was I supposed to know? It's not like you ever do anything anyway. Then the one fucking time I put a dish away, you fucking bitch because they were clean. If I leave it in the sink you break my balls about that. Should I just throw it a-fucking-way?"

"No, I didn't mean it that way. I didn't even know you put anything in the dishwasher sweetie. I just wanted to make sure you didn't put anything in the dishwasher because I had not had a chance to empty it yet."

"You know what your fucking problem is? You're never happy. You say I don't do enough and then you bitch because I put a FUCKING DISH AWAY."
He sulks. The TV suddenly gets even louder even though it is quiet in the house.

She feels confused. What did she do wrong? She was just asking a FUCKING question. She pauses. She will not cry and tries again.

"I just meant not to put any dishes in the dishwasher because it was clean and I was going to empty it in the the morning when I was not so tired and it wasn't, you know, after midnight." Sarcasm begins to drip to cover the hurt.

"You are so fucking lazy you can't even empty the dishwasher? You are home all day doing absolutely nothing. Sad."

He gives her the silent treatment. How did a discussion about dirty dishes turn into her being lazy when the dishes were done except for his late night snack???

"I said I meant not to put any new dishes in the dishwasher." Not like he ever did anyway. Why did she bring this up? Why did she start shit on a seemingly good night? Crap.

He louders the TV and makes mocking gestures with his hands that are supposed to resemble her mouth.

She leaves the room in tears. Determined he won't see her cry for the 1,038th night. Unfortunately, she is not quiet enough and he mimics her.

"Whaah. Grow up whore."

She cries harder into a pillow.

The little girl awakens in a 'random' night terror.

"Tend to the fucking kids Mrs. I do Everything, but yet lets the kids cry."

She slowly goes to her little girl. She holds her through the twenty-minute session of hellish night terrors. Sometimes she has 'only' one. Though usually four to six a night. She fools herself saying her little girl 'just' has random night terrors. Overtired. Heriditary. Whatever makes her feel okay at the time.

But that is not the case is it? "IT'S YOUR FAULT" screams the voice in her head.

The baby settles down. The girl walks back in the other room.

"Hey baby," he sings from across the room. "How come you don't want to cuddle with me anymore? Don't you love me like I love you? Come watch this show with me..."