After three martinis and twenty “God damn that cheating bastard,” Marie smashed the Lalique vase, Waterford bowl, Royal Doulton balloon lady, and Tobacco Leaf serving platter on the kitchen floor.
William deserved no less for his decision to resume his affair with his old flame, Roberta. He knew very well how Marie felt when he and Roberta went out drinking, when his mother invited Roberta to family functions, and when his father brown-nosed him because, like him, he voted Republican.
“I need some freedom,” William had asked just two nights ago, just before they went to bed. “That doesn’t mean I want to get a divorce. I just want to open it up a little, you know what I mean?”
Marie had sat up in bed at this remark. Things had been going so well between them – they’d had great sex twice since the past Sunday. William had never given any indication she was boring him. Marie said no, let’s take our time about this, and William put up the usual arguments you’d expect from a clingy housewife.
Marie was always afraid she’d become the clingy housewife. And she had.
And then this afternoon, William had called, saying he was going out with Roberta, and that it was a sex date. “But we agreed,” William had told him, “we could have occasional flings.”
Marie had said no, Roberta was off the table, but William insisted. “We’ll talk about this when I get home.”
After she was done cleaning up, Marie asked herself, how’d she ever explain the broken collectibles? It’s not like that drunken time when she’d thrown all of William’s old porn away. She couldn’t explain it all away with one of her stock lies.
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