He did it to give me a stroke. I’m going to pop a blood vessel over this. How could that man taunt me in this childish, bull-headed way? I just can’t believe any human would treat another with such ... such ... such flagrant disrespect.
How could he have left the ketchup on the countertop after lunch? And ... gasp, even worse ... without putting the lid back on?
Didn’t he know that there was a cockroach issue on the other side of the hill from here? Why, they’d be over here any day, Marie was certain of it – ready to attack, ready to gawk at us while we shower, ready to scurry up our legs when we’re serving rack of lamb to the neighborhood grand poobahs, ready to deposit their eyes in our eyebrows while we sleep.
“Juan,” Marie said, putting that tinny tone in her voice. She wanted him to know she was pissed. “Would you come in here a moment.”
Her roly-poly bald husband with the sandpaper beard sauntered into the kitchen, swinging one arm in front of the other. Like he was king of the castle or something.
“Honey, what’s up?” He squinted and smiled. Juan needed to go to the dentist, but he wouldn’t listen to her prodding and make an appointment.
“For once,” Marie said, containing her voice on an even keel, “would you put the lid on the ketchup and back in the fridge after lunch?”
“Oh, if it’s only that, sure. Next time. Hey listen, I’m watching the game in the den. Gotta get back to it.”
He swung by her and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, popped it, and through the metal fliptop onto the counter – and headed back to the den.
Damn that man. He just doesn’t understand, does he?
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