How fucking oblivious am I?
I have been sitting in Starbucks for the last half hour, writing a blog about Ronaldo when the couple that came in right after me begins having a snippy argument.
The only reason I notice is when the wife reaches over and puts her fingertips, beautifully manicured, on my table.
“Can I ask you a question?” Her tone is aggressive and a little angry.
AND A LITTLE RUSSIAN.
Evil Couple. Stealth Evil Couple. Sitting right next to me.
I am the littlest deer in the headlights ever.
I stare in horror as Mrs. Evil narrows her eyes at me.
“Um….yes?” I am not sure whether to shit or go blind at this point. (An awesome phrase from the 70’s in the deep South that totally applies here.)
“If your wife asked you for something simple, something you would want if you were not being angry and childish, would you do it?” She folds her arms, almost like it was either a rhetorical question or that I had already answered affirmatively.
In the back of my head, the former husband in me understands the tone and the move. Going outside the argument and bringing someone else in means that both he and I are just fucked.
And I am not even married to this bitch.
“I’m divorced.” Its all I can think of. Digging a hole in the sand to hide in won’t work, they use Italian tile in Starbucks.
“And?” She arcs her eyebrows. I am not getting out of this.
“Depends on what it is, I guess.” You could not get a pin up my ass with a jackhammer.
She looks right thru me.
“I can see why you are divorced.” She dismisses me and focuses an angry look at her husband.
If anyone else talked to me like that, I would rip in, curse, throw shit…etc. But I have spent so much time studying these two and writing thousands of words about them that being shit on by her……is kind of charming.
As they keep talking, it becomes apparent that, somehow, the school that the twins go to has wisely decided to put them in separate classes, as is advised by many child psychologists.
He is in favor of it and she is not.
As always, according to her, he does not love her or the twins enough to fix this.
In other words, tell the school their job.
“When they are beaten by bullies, I hope you don’t laugh in front of them.”
The fact that he speaks at all after this comment tells me that he has been married for over 10 years and hasn’t learned a damn thing.
In trench fighting, the first thing you learn is that there is a time to fight and a time for keeping your head down.
Break in the action.
A friend of the two of them has come in.
This guy has that awesome social skill of being totally unaware of walking into a tense situation.
Mrs. Evil is leaned over the table, angry finger thrust into Mr.’s face and is ripping him in whispers when the friend sits down next to Mrs.
“Whats up, guys?”
The entire situation diffuses.
“Are you going to eat that?” Mrs. points at the cheese danish in front of Mr. This is in the awkward silence that follows.
“No!” The anger in Mr.’s voice catches me off guard. He rarely shows that much anger, and I have seen them in arguments that would end most marriages.
“Why not?” For once, Mrs. Evil seems off balance, like she wasn’t expecting the response.
He looks at the friend that is sitting there, in between her and me.
“I lost 50 pounds last year and gained it all back, wanna know how?” He looks at the friend.
Shit, I am back in the middle of it.
Mrs. Evil, for her part, has a little deer in the headlights thing going on that seems so out of place on her, its like watching a different person.
“I had a full breakfast with my wife less than an hour ago.” He gestures disdainfully at her. The volume of his voice is rising steadily and people behind him are stepping quietly away.
“Then I sit down and she puts this shit in front of me.” He gestures angrily at the danish.
The man is all in a lather and Mrs. Evil’s face is frozen.
“And I will eat it like a FUCKING animal who doesn’t know any better!” He holds up a finger to shut Mrs. up, who was not trying to speak, by the way.
“No, Kat, no! I am sick of this shit!”
Kat? Katrina? She’s russian, maybe its Katarina. Lovely name.
Back to the scene.
This is a warped twist I was not expecting. The roles have been reversed.
Mr. has caught his breath and is continuing.
“Shit in the morning, shit in the evening. Its no WONDER I am gaining weight.”
He stands up abruptly, shooting his chair back an angry foot.
“I’m going to work.” He is pissed. He doesn’t say anything else, he just turns and walks out.
Mrs. Evil barely misses a beat before she is up and out the door chasing after him, a look of anguish on her face.
What just happened to the world?
Just when I thought I had it all figured out, at least this little part of it, it has spun so far out of pace that I am firmly convinced that I know nothing. My mind is trying desperately to catch up.
I feel bad for Mrs. Evil. Those words, even the thought of those words, is an alien and foreign thought.
How did that happen?
So, to recap:
Mr. Evil has an anger and weight issue.
And poor Mrs. Evil?
She is the victim.
How fucked up is that?