Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Four Days, Part 1

The news came on a faded but colorful chariot. What should have been a normal Friday became a mission of impossible causes. I put this up there with the search for the Holy Grail and Ponce de Leons struggle for the fountain of the youth. Just what does a sista got to do to get a little lovin'? As I walked in the door my husband sat barn owl still in the kitchen chair and yes his eyes were somewhat dilated. He stared urgently at me and said the kids are gone for the evening. A wee chill ran up my tired legs. It had been a tough day at work, and all I wanted to do was lie on the couch and sink into a black hole of sci-fi thinking gals classics. But there was that look in his eyes and suddenly I felt that wee tingle that’s more than a chill.

Oh how I wished I had worn a higher heel. The sensible and comfortable ones I had chosen this morning didn’t exaggerate the calf. The suit though was lady boss sexy and the broken air conditioning in my car had caused me to undo my blouse a few buttons too many on the drive home. Good thing there was a meeting with senior staff today normally I go in nerd casual. I just hope the cleavage overshadowed the heels, and I hope the kitchen light was kind to my tired makeup. As I stood in the doorway, I tried to whip my hair around so that it draped sexily off my shoulder. Instead I bumped my head on the door frame, and the look I acquired was closer to the demon ghosts of Asian horror.

My husband eyes widened, I hope with concern but more likely fear and he said, “Are you alright?” I nodded yes and as I looked at him through my hair the aforementioned chill I felt went south quite quickly as I stumbled away. He said to my back, “Ribs were on sale at the market and I bought a few slabs. I’ll take care of them, no need to do that Asian rib thang you do.” With each step, rage began to replace the chill within me. First, he doesn’t notice I’m trying to be sexy! Two he said thang! When my black husband tries to sound urban/ethnic black it’s not a pretty sight. He meticulously pronounces every bit of slang so that it sounds like Oxford English. Instead of sounding natural, it's more like “Would you like some crumpets and cucumber sandwiches with that 40oz?" Yes the chill was certainly gone now and to make matters worse I felt a bump growing on my head. Tired and more frustrated than when I first arrived home, I planned to tell the children their father hit me in a rage. Then I thought perhaps I’ll keep gel in my hair for that wet look and walk around the house in a white crumpled nightie and heavy black eyeliner. Like my sister Asian ghosts, I thought somebody has got to pay for this sh*t and I don’t care whom!

All weekend it rained hard and grilling was really not practical. Strike a victory for the demon ghosts! Sunday night the rib King gingerly laid a hand on my thigh; I thought about the faded bruise on my forehead and snapped my legs shut. The Queen would have no visitors tonight, Sir Thang!

I took a personal that Monday for some me time and figured I’d soak in the tub and ignore the pleas of my cell phone. Unexpectedly the wind chime ring turned into the theme from Shaft. My honey called and said he was coming home early. In a completely insane reaction I thought he was making up for missing my awkward signals and intended to share a little of that bad Mutha Shut Yo Mouth with me. I just hoped he wouldn’t say, "Gimme that thang"! While I sat in the tub debating the merits to trim or not to trim, he popped his head in the bathroom clever boy calling from the stoop! Upon seeing me in the Gillette birthing position, he loosened the tie around his neck, I gasped expectantly then he said, “Did you buy hickory chips?” I groaned disappointingly and will metaphorically confess while he was thinking wood I was thinking sushi. I screamed out and threw the razor at him. Nothing says the bloom is off the rose more than seeing your mate in an exposed position and then talking about wood and really meaning wood. Apparently ribs are to be on the menu and I am not!
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Camile Ryerson is our regular contributing writer. Her column appears every Wednesday. Read her views on politics, world affairs, pop culture and of course, what she's reading. Her favorite genre is sci-fi.

2 comments:

Tarie said...

Hahahahahahahahaha! OMG. Men can be so dense. Oh, wait... Are ALWAYS dense.

MissAttitude said...

Lol this column was really funny! I can't believe i the clueluessness of guys sometimes. *shakes head in wonder*
I laughed particuarly hard at the part where you said, you tried to whip your hair and ended up hitting your head instead. Then when your husband didnt get the hint you contemplated telling your kids that he hit you! Hahaha. I wonder if he's going to read this? ;)