It has often been said that no one really knows about what goes on behind closed doors; that no one really knows what happens between a couple, in someone’s home. This is as true as the day is long. 

Per the advice given to me by various members of the blogosphere and of course to protect the sanctity of marriage (that last bit was a joke) I have chosen not to divulge details of daily dramatics. Once in a while, I share. And today is a once in a while. 

Jean, the lady next door, painstakingly makes her own Christmas cards every year. (The reason we went to the Craft Expo a few weeks ago— to get her supplies). She creates elaborate designs and uses the tiniest of tools in her little workshop/office and makes individuals cards for everyone. Very detailed and very thoughtful. 

She gave a card addressed to “Michelle & Joe’ with a lovely note. While I am not celebrating Christmas this year, it is nice to have a bit of cheer, opened, on the table. 

Last night, he shredded it and threw it in the trash outside. Let me clarify: for absolutely no reason at all. He simply said, “It clutters the table”.

Needless to say, this whole situation has got me at a constant level 8 of anger but that move he made got me at an 11. I don’t know why. It’s just indecent and regardless and mean and cruel. 

Anyways-

There was nothing left for me to do. I grabbed the card out of the bin, taped it up, and set it up in my bedroom. Poor Jean put a lot of work into that card. 

Then, I told him how what he did made me **feel moments before I took the steak he was eating and ripped it apart with my bare hands and said, “Eat your fuckin steak now, you swine.” 

I’m, like, a French Revolutionist or something. “Swine”. Who am I?

That night, with the stench of steak on my hands (oh, I refuse to wash victory off of my hands) I actually had a dream that I was sitting inside of Señor Grubby’s in Carlsbad eating a massive carne asada burrito, spilling over with salsa fresca, sour cream, and beach cruisers… It has been over 7 months since I’ve had Mexican food. 

7 months. 

When I get home, hide the mexicans. I may just throw an ACTUAL mexican on the grill now. 

**cursed at him