I’ve never seen the Sopranos. I have been feeling like watching some decent television lately so I decided to pick up the first few seasons. So my wife and I are watching, and I decided to have a bowl of generic fruit loops as a snack. I go into the kitchen, only to return and find her on the media center PC reading some damn woman’s message board about some kid named Jacob and how he won’t behave. I hate these kinds of things, because I really can’t imagine the interest or value to anyone of knowing that someone else’s child, who is of no relation at all, is misbehaving. I wait patiently for what seemed like an eternity, but is probably around 1-2 seconds before blurting out “WTF, close that shit.” She keeps reading…SO FUCKING SLOWLY, and completely ignores me. I started to become more impatient and deservedly so, as it has been at least 12 seconds by this time. My irritation is turning into blind rage, and I feel a forced humiliation for disrespecting my wishes may be in order.
At this point, she becomes sassy. Inflamed females have this way of whining that somehow inspires the fight or flight response in me. Actually, it is pretty much just a fight response. I stick my fingers into the fruit loops and perform a dexterous flicking maneuver, thus splattering her face and clothes with a small cluster of lovely white milk drops. She has been watching Maury lately since she quit her job, and I swear she turns into one of those super gangster white women with bad teeth, and gives me a look that could only be interpreted as “OH NO YOU DIDN’T” *snap*
I know that I am in for some kind of retaliation, but I am undeterred. Strong in my resolve, I hold my ground and await the flame. To my surprise, before I can react my wife jumps from her seat and deftly pops the cereal into my face. There is nothing left in the bowl. Milk and fruit loops are everywhere, my hair and face are dripping with milk. Cereal is in my armpit. At this point, I am furious, and she runs chuckling.
I go to take a shower, and begin to clean up the mess that was made. She comes back in laughing, and I retaliate. “This is NOT funny, why the hell aren’t you cleaning this?!” The end result of this is that I’ve made her feel guilty. As any attached male knows, even when a woman has done something completely fucked up, our making them guilty is a worse sin than anything they’ve done that was shitty. I know where this car gets off, so I tell her to leave me to the cleaning and we’ll both calm down.
I sit, absolutely steaming, in the living room. She is in the bedroom. I feel like a donkey, I feel disrespected, and I feel anger. I know from my past that the best solution to anger is some pushups and some time, so I occupy myself to the point that I feel I can have a conversation. I walk carefully to the back room and inform her that she needs to apologize. I inform her that the next time she pulls some shit like that I’m going to get her back, and that I am seriously fucking JESUS LEVEL for turning the other cheek after this insult.
She says “well you started it.”
I implore her to stop, and simply say ok, and it will all be over. This is her signal to poke the bear. I am 6’4”, 340 lbs. She is like 5’2” 190. What the fuck ever happened to the natural order? She doesn’t stop, and the justifications come hard and fast, relentlessly. After some desperate yelling on my part, and the retrieval and subsequent mighty blow to her arm/back area with an oversized pillow, I leave the room with a simple “FUCK THIS.”
Now, I am back in the living room feeling like a donkey again. I try, I really do, to distance myself from this visceral anger. It is at this moment that I realize that I must spring into action if I am to rid myself of these feelings.
I think for a few moments before I come up with an idea that is proportionately as much of a jump from flicking milk to dumping cereal. The answer comes to me with no effort, and I head to the kitchen. I wrap my right hand in two layers of paper towels, so as to avoid soiling myself in the prank. We have a JUMBO jar of crunchy peanut butter, easily large enough to fit my hand, whilst paper toweled. I do this deep swipe, careful not to tear the paper, and come up with roughly 2-3 cups. This is solid revenge. At this point I close the top and place the jar on top of the refrigerator (where short women can’t see it) and walk stealthily into the back room. It is here that the dragon lady surfs the Internet, and I will find my fortune in her lair. I immobilize her by placing my hand on her forehead and pulling her close to my torso. She is sitting, I am standing. She attempts to struggle but it is too late, and a hero takes his peanut-mittened hand and smears the entire wad onto her bespectacled face. Of course, having realized that this could be intensely uncomfortable, I wipe upwards to ensure maximum nasal penetration.
She makes a noise that is probably best described as a furious combination of vomiting and sneezing. I scream, “payback is a bitch!” and my 5 year old having witnessed the tail end of the spectacle blurts out in a serious voice “Oh, owned.”
She has promised to take revenge on me, but I am a hearty man. I will eat whatever she smears onto me with glee and patience. This war is not over.
