“Hey Judy, get me a beer,” Ron said. He yelled at the kitchen door, knowing full well that his lazy no-good-do-for-nothing wife was in there. Probably watching her fingernails grow or thinking about the next dye job she’d get at the beauty parlor. Don’t she know who the captain of the ship around here is? Hell, he’s the man of the house and he brings home the moulah that pays for the freakin’ joint.
Judy heard Ron’s bellowing from the living room. Let him yell, for all she cared, she thought at the kitchen table, finishing up her crossword. What, he didn’t think she knew about the twins across the street? And what about the Bellows maid, who got pregnant and ran off to Colombia? Did he think she was stupid? That no-good-do-for-nothing man that saddled her with two wide-eyed girls as sweet and gentle as she was – well, as she once was, before she met that cheat of a man.
“Ah, get it yourself, I’m busy,” Judy said. She could yell at the kitchen door, too. She had more important things to do. She was heading down to the basement to sculpt a fruit bowl. A gift for Ron’s mother, of course. Ron didn’t even appreciate what she was doing, ever since his father died, looking after Mama Dorothy. Judy couldn’t understand why Dorothy mourned that awful man – whose girlfriends at the lounge and drunken Friday night binges made Ron look like a saint.
She got up from the kitchen table and was about to open the basement door when Ron barged into the kitchen.
“And where’s my dinner? Should be on the table now. Ma would have it ready, so why in the hell can’t you?”
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