It seems I need to clear up a few things. First, I do not hate my cat. I love my cat, so stop sending me emails on how to kill the poor animal. As I said, my cat and I have an understanding.
Also, more importantly, I do not hate any of my ex-girlfriends. So again, stop sending me emails on how to do away with any of them (there are laws against that sort of thing, ya know?). After all, even the ones who are out to kill me are good for a laugh from time to time.
Anyway, seeing as how today my brain once again feels like a rusty lawn chair, and I'm feeling about as creative as the color beige, let me share with you yet another peek into my tortured love-life, okay?
Sometime ago, my now-ex-girlfriend and I were driving home from dinner (actually, she was driving. I just feel safer when her hands are on the steering wheel where I can see them). And, I was sitting in the passenger seat busying myself with gawking out the window and trying not to do that thing with my mouth where words come out and she goes crazy. Some people call it talking, but she sees it as a deliberate attempt on my part to drive her into a homicidal rage.
"Do you hear that noise?" She asks as we're tooling down the expressway at a reasonably safe speed.
"What noise?" I ask, the sound of her voice pulling my attention away from a brief meditation on whether or not a beer can I saw on the side of the road was full or empty.
"Whenever I turn a corner," she says, "my car makes this 'clunk' in the front."
Now, insofar as I really wanted to explain to her that there seems to be a sheer lack of corners on the expressway, and thus, there's no way I could have heard any noise, my only response was to say, "it's probably a tie-rod, a ball-joint, or the little old lady you ran down who is now tangled around your drive train rapping on your under-carriage begging for you to stop."
"Shut up," she said. "I know nothing about cars."
I don't know how it happened, but I suddenly found myself dealing with a growing concern for her safety at this point, and I asked her, "Do you at least know how to change a tire?"
"God no," she replied. "Why would I know that? I've never had a flat."
"So, what hapens when you do get a flat?"
"I don't know," she said wth a shrug. "I'd probably call you."
"What if I'm not able to?" I ask.
"That's stupid. Why wouldn't you be able to?" she asked. "Don't you love me? Are you sleeping with someone else?"
Do you see my mistake, there? She doesn't consider the possibility that I may be in traction and reduced to drooling into a cup because I did that thing with my mouth again which lead to her beating me into a boneless, quivering mess. Nope. She goes for the closest, most-irrational option available.
I swear, I could be long dead and buried in the ground, and this woman would stand above my grave and say something like "why didn't you send me a birthday card this year, you selfish prick?"