She Makes a Helluva Roast

She makes a helluva roast

Miriam hates doing laundry, Patrick thought, glancing down at the stains on his shirt.

She complains constantly about how dirty the house is, but rarely lifts a finger to clean it. Hell, I work all day and she expects me to come home and do housework while she sits around on her lazy butt? No way.

He sat down at the small kitchen table he shared with his wife, ticking off all her shortcomings in his mind. It was a habit he’d carried for so long it was hard to break. He’d made the mistake of voicing his less than exemplary opinions of her negative traits once and it had nearly landed him in the hospital. She chastised him later, saying that a real man wouldn’t have cried so loudly over a broken wrist and black eye.

Miriam, conversely, was fond of reminding Patrick of the many ways he was a disappointment as a spouse. She emasculated the size of his income as well as his manhood and was a regular thesaurus when it came to finding ways to berate his other qualities.

Looking around the messy kitchen, Patrick sighed and resigned himself to the chore of cleaning. If you want something done right… or at all…

He piled large chunks of juicy roast onto his plate, along with potatoes and carrots. He dug into the savory meat with gusto. There was one compliment he could bestow upon his deficient bride. She made a helluva roast.

Looking over at the remaining pieces of her corpse that dangled from hooks in the kitchen ceiling he thought, And tomorrow she’ll make a really nice fillet.

[Since it’s New Year’s Day I know many of you will be sitting down to a nice dinner with family. I thought I’d share one of my family dinner stories with you to commemorate the occasion. Hope you enjoy. Happy New Year!]

~V

 

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