About once a month, I come to the conclusion that I really need to divorce Cap’n Firepants; in fact, I should have done it a long time ago. I mean, how can I live with a man who can’t stay up past 10 P.M., or who cannot smell, no matter how many times I ask, the mildew odor emanating from our brand new mattresses? He is clearly the most unreasonable man in the world.
You’ve probably noted the regular schedule of this revelation, and I bet you have wisely deduced the reason this epiphany occurs every 30 days. I have, too. But that doesn’t make it seem less important every month. Fortunately, during saner times, I instituted a Major Decision Moratorium for these 12 weeks a year. And, despite the clarity with which Cap’n Firepants’ many transgressions suddenly overwhelm me each time, I am somehow able to suppress the urge to initiate any divorce proceedings long enough for the deep conviction that I would be better off as a single woman to subside.
The conversations I have with myself in my head are interesting, though.
“Is he crazy? Did he just have the gall to ask what you wanted for dinner tonight? As if you are going to be doing the cooking? Why can’t he do the cooking? It’s the weekend.”
“Don’t you think you are overreacting? Isn’t it, uh, you know…”
“Of course I’m not overreacting!!!! Do you think any other woman puts up with this garbage? Do you think Oprah lets Steadman expect her to do the cooking? What about Hillary and Bill? Or Michelle and Barack?”
“Um, I think they all have other people cook for them.”
“Great, so I have a horrible husband and I’m poor. Thanks for pointing that out.”
“Maybe you should just take a look at the calendar.”
“So I can see that I’m another day older? Trust me, I haven’t forgotten that I’m old and wrinkly. Boy, you really love making me feel low.”
“O.K. Forget the calendar. Look at your pills.”
“Well, thanks for telling the whole world that I take Happy Pills. You are just determined to completely demoralize me today, aren’t you?”
“Not those pills. The other ones. You know, the ones that have the days of the week on the pack?”
“Uh huh. Yeah, what about ‘em?”
“One week left. That’s all I’m sayin’”
“And why do I have to be the one that takes the pills? Why can’t he be the one who’s responsible? God, he is so selfish! That’s it. This marriage is over.”
“O.K. I tell you what. Wait 7 days, and if you still feel that way, I will completely support you.”
“Fine. That will give me 7 more days of ammunition to use anyway.”
“Fine. Can I divorce you, too, while I’m at it?”
“Good luck with that.”
“Fine. Just give me some chocolate and shut up.”
12 years, and the divorce papers have never been filed. Cap’n Firepants is one lucky guy.