Wee before I drop you off? You usually do.”
“Yeah. That man would choke my tongue out if I came home without a rib dinner for him,” I said with a forced chuckle.
“Husbands! Bah! After a while they are as hard to keep in shape as a pair of cheap panty hose. My husband has become so fuckin’
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irritatin’ that whenever I get constipated, all I have to do is look at him for a few minutes. He’s the best laxative in the world. My bowels never had it so good.”
“Rhoda, that’s one of the most disgusting things I have ever heard you say! Otis is your husband. If he’s that bad, why are you still with him?”
“For the same reason I keep those old house shoes I’ve had since I gave birth to my last child. He’s comfortable, familiar, and convenient—and he used to be good and sexy. Just like that old shoe you married.” I didn’t like the smug look on Rhoda’s face, but it was one I was used to seeing. “Here we go,” Rhoda said, sucking on her teeth as we stopped in front of Al’s rib joint. “I think I could go for some hot links myself.”
C H A P T E R 5
My husband, Jerry, whom we all called Pee Wee, was in the same position in his shabby blue La-Z-Boy recliner in our living room that he was in when I left the house more than four hours earlier.
“I’m home,” I said, coughing at the same time to clear my throat.
I used to look forward to coming home. But that was back in the day when my husband greeted me with my housecoat and slippers, a cold drink, and a mind-boggling French kiss. And when I got home before he did, I would greet him the same way. Things had changed, and not for the better. Coming home nowadays was like visiting a relative I didn’t like. Every time I heard that old song by the Supremes called “Where Did Our Love Go?” it reminded me of my marriage. There had once been so much affection in my home that I thought it would never fizzle out. Well, it did. I didn’t know how to resurrect it, either. I was thankful that I now had another man to focus on. Like a lot of women my age, I still had a lot of love to give, and I still needed a lot of love myself.
“You bring them ribs?” Pee Wee asked. At the same time, he released a silent fart. Even though I didn’t hear it, the stench was so unholy, it made my eyes water and the insides of my nostrils burn.
“Excuse me. I had chili for lunch, and I’ve been payin’ my gas bill 24
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ever since,” he drawled. He didn’t even turn around to face me as I stood in the doorway.
I held my breath and fanned my face with my hand, but it didn’t do much good. The closer I got to him, the more my eyes watered from his gas.
I was disgusted, to say the least, and glad that I had not brought company home with me. Without a word, I set the Styrofoam container, which contained a large order of ribs, three chicken wings, two slices of wheat bread, some coleslaw, and baked beans, on the coffee table in front of him. And, without a word, he flipped open the container and started eating, gnawing on one of the wings like a beaver.
Pee Wee spent more time with that old chair of his than he did with me. He looked like an old man stretched out in it, with his gray-ing hair and his bony, reptilian-like bare feet. His belly was so bloated and low, it looked like he was about to give birth. Had I known that the “worse” of the “for better or worse” part of our vows was going to be this bad, I would have deleted or rewritten that outdated, unrealistic shit myself. It was a damn shame that my once near-perfect marriage had become so unbearably dull. I was now the wife of a caricature.
I sat down gently on the arm of the sofa, facing him, and cleared my throat to get his attention. That didn’t work. “Did you make Charlotte take a bath before she went to bed?” I asked, looking around my spacious living room, admiring the new beige shag carpet and the gold velvet sofa and love seat that I had purchased
Frances and Richard Lockridge