I have just returned home from my place of work, which looks darker than usual. I walked away from a customer while I agreed with them about how they could get better value anywhere but here, went into the toilet, looked at my spare pair of shoes, and entered my front door. The dog had gone out, but my wife was at home. She was relaxing on our sofa, arm draped around a man so much more handsome than me that I felt happy for her.
'Hello. You met someone then?'
'Hello. Yes. This is --. You should move out.'
'That seems fair. How long have you two known each other anyway.'
'We met yesterday. Have you got all your things?'
'You seem nice, sir. It's good to meet you. I'll go stay at work.'
'Ok. You should know I'm pregnant.'
'Since yesterday. Wow.'
'Yes. I can tell. He's so much more exciting than you were, isn't he?'
I leave the house. The dog is coming home but he crosses the street so he doesn't have to talk to me. The new guy's probably got in with him already. I blame no-one. I'm just lucky to be here.
Yesterday nearly saw the end of me. I'd managed to get home after escaping the FBI in a shootout where I was actually very much the wronged party, and was eager to tell my wife the story of my exciting day, but at the first mention of this she practically exploded. She demanded to know things which I did not understand, then sent me out on my gear-less bicycle to pick up the very specific supplies she needed to complete the piece she was writing. This took several hours, though the sun did not set.
When I returned home, which was now a demountable atop a hillside retreat near a ski lodge/education centre, my legs were buckling under the weight of my wife's shopping. Placing it all on the table, she did not even glance at the haul before going red in the face. I cowered and hid under the table.
'CASTROL GTX!!' she bellowed.
She grabbed me by the sleeves of my wooly jumper and hauled me upward.
'WHERE THE FUCK IS MY FUCKING CASTROL GTX?'
'But you asked for none.'
'FUCK YOU! GO BACK OUT THERE - no. Wait. Wait outside. Wait outside until it rains, and once it's raining enough, get back on your bike and go to the petrol station on the farthest side of town and get me my fUCKNG CASTROL GTX! AND DON'T YOU DARE USE YOUR FUCKING STUPID ARMS!'
'Ok', said I, and went outside and waited.
It took three days before it rained, but fortunately a real monsoon came eventually. I lost count of the number of cars which actively tried to kill me. I assumed they were all driven by men who my wife knew. Not using my arms was tough, but I only cheated a little. I carried the green plastic bottle with my elbows. I did not tell my wife this.
When I arrived home, I apologised for taking so long, then went to work. I guess it was while I was out cycling around that she met the new guy. I don't blame her. I should've known she'd need lots of engine oil to complete her next piece. I am an idiot. Good for you, the new guy.
She deserves the best. I hope to disappear.