Fists of Tissues


Back in 2008, one afternoon, I was at the kitchen island in my house, talking to Linda. I don’t recall exactly what we were talking about but John’s name came up. Linda was my listening ear, my shoulder to cry on. In the middle of sharing one of John’s shining moments, John pops open the door into the kitchen. He had been standing behind the cracked door listening to Linda and I. I was fucking furious because my chief complaint to Linda was “John is so far up my ass, I am going to have to have him surgically removed if I stop quickly.” I couldn’t even have a few minutes alone without him managing to eavesdrop on me.
Furious at him for sneaking around once again, I grabbed the box of tissues off the island and threw it at him yelling, “Stop listening to my conversations with people! I know you spy on me for no reason!”

The tissues bounced off his belly and fell to the floor, just like my words fell on deaf ears.

What did I learn this day?
1. My husband WAS regularly spying on me for no reason.
2. Hitting him with a tissue box did not automatically cause him to call the police.

He must not have added it to his speed dial yet.


Go ahead...take a swing. I'll duck and listen.

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