The Stuff Divorce is Made Of

Why do people get divorced?

Sure there are the big reasons: emotional/physical abuse, falling out of love, sleeping with your wife’s sister. But I’m willing to wager that more often than not, it’s not the big things. Instead, I believe it’s a steady collection of little things that build up over the years and slowly drive you insane until you’re pushed just a little too far. And then it happens.

Last week, all of Cape Cod heard MJ snap.

Some background: I’m a human vacuum when it comes to food and drinks. After I finish eating my meal or sucking down my beverage, I go on the prowl. I pick at Will’s food and then flit over to MJ’s plate. If there are leftovers, they’re not long for this world. Of my many faults, for some reason this one bugs MJ the most. Which means I may or may not make a point to do it even more when she’s pissing me off.

So last week, as I’m sitting on the couch, I grew thirsty. Seeing as the fridge is a whole 12 feet away from the couch, I first sought out another (closer) option. That’s when I looked at the coffee table and saw MJ’s glass full of inviting ginger ale. At least I thought it was ginger ale.

Turns out it was Diet Snapple Peach Tea. And it was fucking disgusting.

It might not have been so bad if I had known it was something awful and been prepared for it. I was expecting a mouthful of delicious Canadian Dry, but instead my taste buds were raped by this terrible-tasting peach shit. The ocean of difference between the two caused me to physically wretch. In mid-gulp. Which caused me to backwash right into her glass.

That was the last of her Snapple shit. Also, MJ wasn’t in the room at the time, which left me facing a conundrum: tell her the truth and dump it in the sink or hope she doesn’t notice.

I think you all know which one I chose.

My reasoning—if you can truly call it that—was simple: I didn’t want to piss her off. Ok, ok…and I didn’t want to get in trouble. But I just thought she wouldn’t notice. She’d drink her Snapple, I’d stay out of trouble…a true win-win!

When she came back into the living room and took a sip of her drink, my heart was racing. I couldn’t even look at her because I’m a horrible liar and MJ always knows when something is up. So I just stared straight ahead at the TV, hoping against hope she wouldn’t notice. And that I’d maintain full use of my testicles.

“What the hell is that?” she said.

My heart dropped into my feet and panic set it in immediately.

“There’s something in my drink. But I don’t know…what is this? Oh my God, it looks like someone spit in my drink or something.”

A good man would’ve fessed up. An honest man would’ve apologized. A smart man would’ve realized compounding a misdeed with a lie only leads to trouble. But I am none of these things.

“Holy shit honey. That is just friggin weird. I’m sorry about that, do you want me to get you another one?” I offered in my best helpful husband voice.

Of course she told me what I already knew, that that was her last one. So I took the glass and volunteered to empty it in the sink for her. She was appreciative. And then she dropped the guilt hammer.

“By the way, I’m making you an apple pie tonight. I know how much you like it and I haven’t made it in awhile. You deserve something nice.”

The shame was too much. And the truth came pouring out.

“I SPIT IN YOUR DRINK!” I blurted out, rather startlingly.

When she (rightfully) asked what in holy hell was I thinking, I didn’t have an answer. I know I should’ve just dumped it out and told her what happened, but I also know what would’ve happened if I had done that. I would’ve gotten a lecture. She would’ve gone on and on about how I should just get my own drink and stop taking hers. And she would’ve delivered it with THAT look. Every husband knows it. And hates it. And the thought of it was just too much bear. So instead, I tried to get away with it.

I can safely say this incident will be brought up at least 5,398,462 times over the course of my life. I think we’re right around 50,000 right now and it’s only been a week. No matter what valid points I have in future arguments, somehow I just know this will keep coming up to be used against me.

You spit in your wife’s drink one time…

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21 thoughts on “The Stuff Divorce is Made Of

  1. Oh man. All I can say is do not go to sleep. I have a feeling eyebrow waxing in the middle of the night will be your fate.

    But seriously dude, WTF? You couldn’t go “don’t drink that” and fess up?

    Man, I would totally biff you in the cheek with a bloody tampon. I play mean.

  2. I don’t see how any of this is your fault. I mean, your wife is the one who buys that crap. If she had good taste none of this would have happened.
    First off, Snapple? Seriously? Second off, DIET Snapple???

  3. Good god that is fucking disgusting! I would have thrown it in your face. The snapple and the glass it was in.

  4. BL: Thanks.

    LK: My eyebrows are pretty screwed up anyways. No biggie.

    Adam: I concur. If she had just been drinking ginger ale in the first place none of this would’ve happened. Thank you for your insight and understanding.

    JEE: I think you’re all talk. All bark and no bite! ;-)

  5. I’m sure my guy would be willing to recount the number of times I have attempted to light him on fire, lol.

  6. Jess has this thing about burning my socks. Especially the clean crisp ones. While they’re on my feet – no less. It’s her quirk. It’s my moment of “Jedi Meditation Anger Management”. I figure she’ll get bored with it, sooner or later, and stop. The fact that she knows I don’t really appreciate it means that there’s some form of guilt in the back of her mind (regardless of how much she smiles at me while chiming:”You…LOVE….Me..!” -it’s kind of spooky, actually). If it leaves a mark then that gives me guilt points – right there. And I use them like they’re coupons.

    So, in a mild S&M kind of way…It’s really win-win.

  7. I admit it. I pee’d a little, laughing at this!

    But, your poor, poor wife. She doesn’t deserve you! ;)~

    P.S. Ginger Ale, duh! Of course, it should have been Ginger Ale!

  8. Which reminds me, I’ve got some coupons I want to cash in…..uh-hunh, that’s right.
    See ya when ya get home, babe ;-)

  9. Taylor: Burning socks whilst they are on your feet isn’t a quirk—it’s arson! Good God. I like the coupon system though, and as an added bonus the Daddy Files website just saw it’s first online foreplay amongst readers. Yet another milestone reached!

    thebloneview: Always happy to hear I’ve caused someone to mess their pants. My work here is done.

  10. Lol! DF: I’d only call it Arson if it stays on fire. I’ll admit that the flame effect is pretty cool(Yes, I am a bit crazy, which explains our relationship’s success). But I still get rubbed a little raw due to the fact that they’re perfectly good socks. But…They’re socks! I’ll get new ones, and if it gets her off – so be it. Now THAT’S Romance!

    Hey, for reaching such a milestone, do we get a set of “His & Hers” No-Prize T-Shirts?

  11. You’re lucky to be alive. Now please explain again why the hell you would tell her this?

  12. And you lived to tell the tale? Wow… she must really love you! *lol*

    My equivalent is a fish stick. It was burnt; DW mentioned no-one would eat it, so faster than a speeding bullet, I swooped in and grabbed it off the plate.

    She maintains that by “no-one” she meant the kids and that I stole it from her fingers. Pffft!

  13. i didn’t even get the chance to finish saying, “no one will want that fish stick so i’ll eat it” before he rips the fish stick out of my fingers and pops it in his mouth. i was so dumbfounded i could only just stand there looking at him with incredulity, which he totally ignored. jerk.

  14. @ my DW – I didn’t ignore it, I was already leaving the kitchen when I picked up off the plate the fish stick that no-one else wanted…!

  15. Rape jokes trivialise rape. Your tastebuds weren’t ‘raped’. I’m sure I’ll get called all the usual stuff for pointing this out, but it needs to be said.

    “It might be argued that the reason people makes jokes about rape, or use the word to describe something small and throwaway, is because they recognise it is among the worst things that can happen to a person, and therefore anticipate an exciting frisson of shock. To say that the wind “raped your hair” is to apply the incredibly serious to the incredibly trivial, and the comedy is meant to bubble up through that disjuncture, that mire of exaggeration.

    That’s the defence. The result, this writer would suggest, is simple: when you use rape in jokes, or as a glib aside about the terrible sandwich you ate at lunch, you’re suggesting the crime just isn’t very serious. As Sandy Brindley, national co-ordinator of Rape Crisis Scotland, says: “Rape is so particularly traumatic and so meaningful in so many ways, that there’s something about using the word in other contexts that diminishes the reality of it, and the impact it has on women’s lives. Rape is a powerful word, and it’s powerful for a reason, because of that devastating impact.” (see here: http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2010/sep/10/the-rise-of-rape-talk)

  16. Finisterre: I understand what you’re saying and what your opinion is. And I thank you for expressing it.

    But I just don’t agree.

    I’m not trivializing rape. I’m just not. The definition of the word rape is “an act of plunder, violent seizure, or abuse; despoliation; violation.” That’s the way I used the word. So in fact, you’re dead wrong. My tastebuds were raped.

    Now obviously, we all know rape is also when someone is forced into sex against their will. But I think it’s pretty clear I was not comparing an awful tasting drink to a sexual assault. You have to consider the context.

    The fact that I have to defend myself against misguided and inaccurate accusations such as the ones you’re making is just ludicrous. I defy you to point out anywhere in this article where I take sexual assault lightly. You’re truly looking for some ill intent that just isn’t there.

    Relax.

  17. Oh and by the way Finisterre, rape doesn’t only happen to women. So before you and Sandy Brindley start criticizing me for something I didn’t even do, you might want to check yourselves on a few facts.

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