I spent all day preparing; I wanted things to be just right; .
I baked, I prepped and I dusted; I wasn’t looking for a fight
But in through the door he came, moody as best I could tell
Why do I even bother? This evening was going to be pure Hell.
But I had dinner ready, as I always do at five.
He sat down and started eating. He barely knows I’m alive
I prepared myself for what’s to come, the insults and the mean stuff
I desperately wanted out of this marriage, please God I’ve had enough
But I knew I couldn’t leave, at least not for a while
I’d have to stay and get a good one in…God, THAT would make me smile
So just like clockwork, the ragging began…I knew just what he’d say
He started in on my casserole. He said it tasted like hay
Next, he said my biscuits were too hard and that they tasted “fake”
He said they were greasy and heavy, too…not like “his momma” used to make
Then, my coffee was mocked and so was my gravy; he even hated my peas
He spat them out and started to gag and said “This is crap! Take this, PLEASE!!”
So, I removed his plate and the insults still came. He made fun of way I clean.
He said, “This house is filthy. My mom would disapprove. Now that lady was a queen!!”
His mom, his sainted mother…that’s all I’ve ever heard.
But I just sat there letting him talk, I’d have the very last word.
“You don’t do this, you don’t do that. You sure as hell can’t make a decent stew!!”
“You can’t cook and you can’t clean, not like my momma used to do!”
Well, THAT was the last straw, I was livid and hurt. This man was certainly no prize.
I stood there, I got so mad; tears filled my big brown eyes.
My mind was spinning, my brain was on fire and my rage was building, too
So, I turned and smacked the shit out of him……
Just like his Momma used to do..
(THE MORAL OF THIS STORY: Stupid, needy women seek out stupid men who need needy women. It often leads to a marriage men in hell. Why is this the case? Why not. Water always seeks it’s own level.
Both genders need to wise up.
On more thing; the much shorter, original version of this poem was sent to me via e-mail and I, of course, dicked with it. I have no idea who the original author is, otherwise I’d give her…or him…proper credit)