Daily Life, Fiction, Marriage, Writing

A Saturday in August (fiction)

It was a slow weekend and the wife was bored so she started a fight. It wasn’t the sort with flying furniture and words, but the muffled, seething kind where tone of voice and body language and what’s not said conveys more than words, and the silence feels like sucker punches. She started with a strange spiel about how I’m being too nice lately — too nice to be trusted — which struck me as about right because overly nice people are usually the angriest lying freaks you’ll ever meet. But on the other side of the equation, some folks you can’t trust whether they’re nice or not. Then again, women are crazy and who knows what they’re ever really saying because cutting through a woman’s crap is like deconstructing a battleship with your teeth. Continue reading