It was the first time I killed a man. It was an accident. Honestly. I didn't MEAN to actually kill my husband. I want it on the record that I LOVE my husband. Perhaps I better explain.
The man was absolutely terrible at loading the dishwasher. Some people are just not skilled in the art of dishwasher loading. I get that. But, it's essential that I explain his inability to properly load dishes. Because the man would put the knives in the utensil caddy with the blades sticking STRAIGHT up. It's very dangerous to do that. Everyone knows that. Well, maybe not him, but, I digress.
So, one day, I am dusting the blinds on the front window, when he runs out the door without even a kiss goodbye. All I heard as he rushed out was a muffled "See you later hun. Going for a run." He knows I dislike it when he doesn't properly say goodbye but I dismiss it. I do, however, take a glance out the window, and what do you know?? The man is jogging away with a perky little blonde in black running leggings. I do NOT know this woman but I am sure my husband will gladly tell me who she is when he arrives home later. We tell each other EVERYTHING, you know.
Except, he doesn't tell me that night. Nor the next night. Nor the following night. This goes on for three whole weeks.
Everyday, I watch him go off on a run with this blonde stranger in black leggings. Does the woman even own anything in color? I feel like it's important to integrate color into one's wardrobe. I myself wear red lipstick whenever I can, but, I digress.
One afternoon, I worked up the courage to confront him. After all, I deserved to know who this mysterious running partner was, didn't I?
I noticed him getting dressed in running clothes and decided this was the moment.
"Honey, will you come to the kitchen?" I called out as I opened the dishwasher to load the day's dishes. I looked down and to my surprise there were dishes already loaded.
My sweet husband walked through the door, "Yes, hun?"
"Dammit Jack. Did you seriously put the knives sticking straight up AGAIN? What did I say about that? I could stab myself."
He looked over the dishes and and smiled sheepishly, "Oh. Sorry."
I looked up sharply and my face softened at his apology, "Please try to remember better, ok?"
I grabbed the dishtowel to dry my hands and kept eye contact with him. "Jack, honey, who is that blonde woman you've been running with everyday for the past 3 weeks?"
His face paled as he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, "Oh. Her? Um... I don't, uh, know her. I mean, I don't know her name or anything," he stammered out.
My dear sweet husband was LYING to me?! My heart fell a little but then a slow controlled rage started to spread across my body. He was LYING to me. What makes him THINK he can lie, and a terrible lie at that.
"Jack, what do you mean you don't KNOW her. You run everyday with that woman. How can you possibly not know what her name is after three weeks?" I managed to spit out.
His face turned an unnatural shade of cream, "Well, um... I don't exactly, uh, talk to her. We just...run. You know?"
I'm still clutching the dishtowel, rather hard at that, and I begin to notice a pain in my palm from my hard grip. "Come here Jack."
He started towards me then suddenly stumbled forward. I notice that his shoes are still untied as he falls face forward into the dishwasher.
"Jack!!" I cried out.
Did you know when someone gets stabbed in the face, an unnatural amount of blood pours out? I didn't. My dear husband's blood slowly streamed out of his cracked head and onto my freshly mopped floor into a gigantic puddle.
He knows I hate to mop. How inconsiderate of him.
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