An Argument in shades of Bitter

W=Wife H=Husband

W: Sour, you mean that bitter aftertaste of that thing called love, that thing you insist on offending my existence with

Or the permanent look tackily glued on your hagged features

H: Less of an after taste than your cooking leaves I’m sure

And I love to ask Dear but is that a tyre you’re wearing or are you getting fat?

W: Well Dear, you could attempt to be modern and try making a meal yourself; the kitchen isn’t only for housing beer you know

H: I know Dear, it’s to keep PMS suffering bitches at safe distance too

W: As the lounge is for keeping over the hill dinosaurs out of reach of my bare hands, I do believe the thirties are calling you Love

H: And I would cook Dear, but the cinders from last night’s culinary crime might taint the food

The beer at least numbs the taste buds and keeps it down long enough to digest

W: Not the only thing it keeps down Love, I’ve been reliant on batteries for any kind of pleasure in the bedroom for years

H: Wearing those tyres doesn’t leave much room to manoeuvre in bed Dear

W: (mumbles something)

H: Speak English; I don’t understand the whining of spoiled housewives

W: I said ‘I have a very sharp object in my hand’ Love

H: I’d rather take a gamble with said sharp object, than sample your attempts at cooking Dear

W: If you didn’t pay the bills Love, I’d trade up to someone with a concept of respect for women

And less repellent after shave, I believe they stopped making that odour a few hundred years ago

H: Just sell last night’s meal to a bio-warfare lab, you’ll have enough to buy anything you want, maybe even cooking and femininity lessons

W: How about I serve it to your mother, we can see if the old hag really is dead

H: Well Dear, if it kills her you can raise her from the dead, you being a bitter old witch

W: If I was I would have cursed you years ago Love

H: Don’t worry Dear, that vampiric bitch you call mum did so already

She let me marry you

W: (just glares)

H: If you burn a hole in my skull with those loving eyes it’ll mean more mess not to clean up Dear, given you have so much time to ignore those wifely duties

W: That would require you to possess a brain to leak out of your underutilized cranium in the first place Love

H: Better than having a head full of poison webs to come up with all those wonderfully venomous barbs all day long, when you’re not nursing a wine glass Dear

W: Well, AA meetings do have more joy in them than our entire marriage Love

H: You could divorce me Dear

W: And let you off the rest of your life sentence for ruining my better years, unless you want to kill yourself Love

H: Having to put up with your coven every weekend for ‘book club’ hasn’t driven me to suicide yet, what makes you think anything has the power to kill me now

And please feel free to highlight when exactly those better years occurred

W: And your friends are any better?

Why don’t I just don a sexy maid outfit and giggle next time they invade, since they treat me like a serving wench anyway

H: Dear, I intend offence when I say that you in a sexy outfit would constitute a crime against nature, the law and all that’s holy, and at least my friends don’t sound like a bunch of demonic hens clucking about crap literature every weekend

W: At least I know what a ‘book’ looks like Love

And by the term ‘book’ I’m not referring to the civilised heights of Playboy

H: Well… one consolation from this miserable union, I no longer think Hell could hold any surprises, your cooking and having to wake up to the wicked witch every morning for thirty very long years have condemned me to that

W: Likewise Love, and don’t forget the five years before we had that cheap skate wedding, I’ve never forgotten the humiliation of that foul tasting discount cake

Served on oh so classy paper plates

H: I’d have it instead of whatever bio-hazard you’re about to give me for diner any day, and it could have been worse, you could have made the cake Dear

W: Bite me Love

H: I would but I’m afraid I might catch something, I’ll see if the vet can give you anything for that when it’s time for your next check up

W: You’ll have to book that rather soon; I have a feeling that your funeral is going to be a lot sooner than you planned Love

H: Well Dear, thirty… I mean thirty five years with you hasn’t killed me yet so good luck with that

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2 thoughts on “An Argument in shades of Bitter

  1. Would be way funnier were it not so bloody true. Tis why I have zero desire to be such institutionalized ever again. Can love/ hate with mad skills minus a piece of paper.

    And vampiric bitch is MY title.

    • I’d love to say I wrote that as an example of love soured, and how I know it really is so much sunnier… But fuck lying through my arse, that was me in a pitch black pissed off mood, and worse; loving it!

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