The Vacation

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A couple have a funny, dark dialogue about roles in running a house.

Submitted: August 10, 2009

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Submitted: August 10, 2009

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Someone was knocking at the door and I was nowhere near about to get it. Why? Because it would interrupt my afternoon soak in the tub. See, today I’ve got a bottle of Chateau St. Michelle, candles and Miles in the background as my theme music. No sir!
After what seemed like three minutes later, I heard the hubby come fussing and doing his usual steel toe stomp through the living room. Yes, dear the living room is a mess, so is the kitchen, hallway, porch, the leaves need raking, windows need washing and dinner’s in the freezer – because I’m in the tub.
I realize it’s four in the afternoon but I was cleaning the bathroom earlier (it’s half done, by the way) and remembered the new bath set I got from Bathworx last week. Seriously, you can’t let bath salt, body scrub, foam scrub and body butter – a steal at $50, go to complete waste. That would be terrible!
So I told myself, five minutes to get this funk off my body then I realized that I got up extra early this morning to make someone ‘a man’s breakfast’. Out of nowhere popped my husbands’ head.
“Cozy?”
“Yes.”
“You look like someone who hasn’t a care in the world. Looks like you’re thinking that the house will clean itself, food will just jump out of the fridge into the pan and maybe I should become a high fashion model.”
“Huh?”
He disappeared into the kitchen to crack open a brew, he came back into the bathroom and I put Herbie Hancock on pause and got a refill of vino. When he returned, he plopped down on the fluffy seat lid and took a long swig of his beer.
“Aahh! Now where was I…oh yeah, I spent more than nine hours at work and you’re lounging – in the tub, in the afternoon.”
I nodded in agreement and he just sat there with a look of amazement. See, if I were married to a yeller, we’d be divorced by now but just the fact that he was so calm gave me reason to be so honest.
“Not only are your observations correct but I have something to add to it.”
“Go on.”
“I plan to stay here for about another half an hour,” I lifted my wine glass to toast myself.
“Can’t have Sam Adams for dinner,” he gave me a side eye that said now might be the best time to compromise.
“I know, sugar booger. I don’t know how to operate a cherry picker or bulldozer but I get tired too. Those kids wear me out and then I have to cook and clean…”
He interrupted, “That was your choice to work part-time so that you could have spending money. In this day and age, school jobs aren’t as secure as they were back when we had to go to a schoolhouse. Now, I don’t mind taking care but you’ve got to meet me in the middle, sweet beet. I can’t work if I’m on a crash diet and withered away.”
“If you’d let me finish, I was going to get us some take out…”
“Aw man, first you try to starve me now you’re gonna feed me some strangers body parts.”
“What?”
“Remember the fingernail? That thing had rhinestones, snake skin…”
“Okay.”
“We should have sued. She didn’t even say thank you when we returned it to her, just ‘I need to get my glue and make an appointment at the salon.’
“Look, okay, you made your point.”
“Not yet, I haven’t,” he took off one boot and the scent cancelled out any breezy, tropical fantasies I may have had earlier. By the time he got both socks off, I couldn’t take it anymore and rose up.
“Where are you going young lady?” He knew what he was doing because he smiled.
“I’m…..going to get some menus together, I’m getting hungry myself.”
“Well, this water is getting cold. My brew is getting warm and while you’re near the den, would you bring me my Aerosmith, Van Halen and Best of the Doobie Brothers cds”
 
 
 
 
 
 


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