It starts as soon as I walk in the door.
I had a long day at work, and before I can even shut the door you start nagging me, I can’t even slide off my dress shoes before you start in on me – whining, complaining, nagging.
I ignore you, heading towards our room, shedding clothes as I go. I leave my dress shoes by the door, socks stuffed inside them. My suit coat gets draped over a hallway chair, and I don’t even bother fully taking off my tie before lifting my shirt over my head, tossing it to the ground in frustration. I loosen my belt and let my dress pants drop to my ankles before stepping out of them and sitting on the edge of the bed, turning on the television.
But as soon as I change the channel to ESPN I hear you stomping down the hall, and as you enter the room you start in on me again, talking non-stop, voice drowning out the sound of the television. To make matters worse, not only do you continue to talk incessantly, but as I try and watch television you decide to stand in front me, gesticulating wildly as you unleash your litany of complaints.