Swell Day – Curse #60EFG

Posted on April 30, 2011

3


A wife and husband stand in the kitchen and argue over tomatoes. Tomatoes make you puke, the wife says. They make you break out in hives. Peanut butter never makes you sick. Bread never makes you sick!

The husband is craving a nice tomato salad with spring peppers and taps his knuckles along the kitchen counter with growing impatience. The husband says, I hate peanut butter and bread. I like tomato soup. I like pasta sauce.

The drumming of his finger tips drives the wife crazy. The wife snaps, would you stop that? Would you stop that, PLEASE?

The wife is normally not an angry wife, but has recently become aware of the husband’s second wife. This second wife keeps tomatoes in the cupboard and makes a damn fine gumbo.

Every morning the husband drives over to the second wife’s house for breakfast. The second wife makes him omelets with tomatoes — fresh tomatoes picked out of her garden. Before the husband leaves, the second wife kisses him on the neck and tells him to have a swell day.

The first wife places a kettle on the stove and begins to boil water for tea. Well I’m not giving you a divorce, the wife says. The wife has said this many times today.

The husband says, will you stop that?! Will you stop that, PLEASE? I don’t want a divorce. Look, you know that I have cravings. My other wife fulfills them when you won’t. It’s just that simple.

The husband’s belly grumbles loudly beneath his two piece suit.

See, the wife says. You’re sick! Great. You’ll probably miss work again. You’ll probably get your pay docked again. You never listen. You never listen!

Will you just consider letting me have what I want once in awhile, the husband growls. You never let me have what I want.

The wife points and says, I’m not going to give you a god damn divorce! Do you hear me? You’re going to eat peanut butter and bread and you’re going to smile and you’re going to leave your second wife and you’re going to love me and love what I give you to eat or so help me God I’m going to make you eat lettuce the rest of your life. I’m going to shove it down your throat. I’m going to break your legs and then I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to kill you, baby. I swear to God. I’m going to kill you with time and you’re going to WISH I had given you a divorce or that you had ate my god damn peanut butter and bread or that you had stayed with your second wife and never came back to this tomato barren pantry!

I can’t do this right now, the husband says. This is too much. You’re impossible to reason with.

The husband straightens his suit and makes sure his cuff links are proper and grabs his brief case. I have cravings, the husband says.

The wife stands in the kitchen, still and silent. The kettle begins to whistle but she leaves it there — leaves it to sit and burn and wail.

Advertisements
Posted in: Food, Year 1: Curse