I’m a laid-back, wassup kind of guy. You know what I mean? I’m no superhero in disguise. That’s for sure. Superheroing ain’t my pile of dishrags.
Never planned on being a superhero. That’s like Mick Jagger territory or something.Or, uhhh, you know, that Iron Man guy. Whatever his name is.
Then, my ex-wife got mad at me and bit me. Yeah, she’s always been kind of a savage thing. It’s what attracted me to her in the first place and what very quickly drove me away. She owns her savagery like a lion cub owns his mane. Or something like that.
So, yeah. She bit me and all. I don’t know why. She don’t even live in my house anymore. Why should she care if I use Arm & Hammer laundry detergent instead of Gain? Don’t even get why she thinks it’s any of her business. I mean, I don’t go pitching fits about her using her girly glop shampoos instead of Axe.
I gaped as she dug her teeth deep into my arm. She pulled the skin this way and that way. And you know? It kinda hurt. It kinda hurt a lot. Then, she spit out a whole hunk.
I guess it alarmed me to see a whole honkin’ chunk of my arm meat on the floor. Or maybe the blood loss got to me. Don’t now for sure. Anyway, I fainted.
I came out of my faint hours later.
And dogs be punched! That woman was still there. She asked me how I was feeling. I thought that was ripe with weird. She’s never cared all that much about how I’m feeling. That was the other reason why we broke up. I was doing all the feeling and she was doing all the not caring. It got to me after a while
Any such, I opened my mouth to tell her all manner of stuff and this loud sonic boom noise came out of my mouth instead.
Her face got all white-like.
I don’t know much about what my face looked like, but it just had to be as pale as hers.
She got into this whole big tangent about how that wasn’t supposed to happen. I was all like Heck yeah. That ain’t supposed to happen out of my mouth. I tried to tell her that too.
Sonic boom #2 came out. Vibrated the insides of my ears. Made my throat all itchy.
So, yeah. She really freaked out about that. She ran away, wailing that we were gonna be mortal enemies. Or nemesis. Nemesises. Nemesesesed? Or you know, whatever the plural of nemesis is. I watched her drive off in her beefed up Volkswagen Beetle.
I scratched my head. So…? Was I supposed to go chasing after her and make her pay for her wicked ways or *insert heroic catchphrase*?
I wasn’t all that keen on that idea. Chasing means running and making her pay don’t mean getting her to hand over her charge card. It means fighting to the death and *insert heroic action*.
Nuh-uh. All that stuff sounded like a whole lot of work that I just wasn’t up to bothering with.
I went into the living room, cracked open a warm beer, and watched Maury Povich instead.
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