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up fifteen minutes but surely that won’t warrant
the critical mode. I have a perfectly reasonable
explanation for that. I did not think pushing the
Christmas tradition back a few minutes should
bring all this fuss. So I fumble for words and say
but “Hun, it’s not a big deal.”
“Liar, it is.” Says that voice in my head-the Moral
Absolutist. It chooses these moments to pop up,
how annoying, but I could not deal with it now.
“Seriously?” Is that what you have to say after
doing what you did?” She had been calm and
speaking low all this time. Conversational note is
her equivalent of yelling. Now she’s getting
angry.
I still don’t know what it is I have done, but the
tone of the last question tells me to change
tactics. Fewer things she hates more than to be
talking about something I am supposed to know
about and I am there having not the slightest
clue.
I go into the stall mood. “Okay Hun, today is
Christmas, you should be…”
“Precisely!” she cuts in. “So, why would you
choose this morning to go messing about. I’ve
told you to leave things alone. What am I
expected to do now?” She raises her voice to
conversational note as she glares at me
menacingly.
I raise my hands and shrug but say nothing.
Stall. Stalling long enough often brings us to the
point where she says what my crime is… she is not
a person of many words which is good. It means
we don’t have to do this for any length of time.
“Tell me, what am I really supposed to do?” She
repeats the question.
I just sit there looking back at her but do or say
nothing. She’d either say it or get pissed off more
and walk away. Either way, it is better than
admitting I have no idea what she is talking
about.
“Please go and fix that stove now, that is, if you
want any food prepared in this house today.”
Bingo, there it is. “Stove?” I think to myself.
“I just can’t understand you at times. Why don’t
you stop opening things that are working
perfectly well?” She turns to leave as she
condescendingly makes her last comment
I finally find my voice to speak. “I didn’t touch
any stove!” Of this I am sure. I am horrible at
remembering certain things. I have been known
to forget things of which I am guilty only to be
reminded later. But this one, I am sure. “You
know, I don’t do kitchen, so why what will I be
doing with the stove?”
She turns slowly but stops in the doorway. I see
her anger but being ever thoughtful, she prefers
to err on the side of caution. “Oh, now you are
Why I Broke the Stove
Short Story 2
DISCLAIMER
ALL CHARACTERS ARE FICTITIOUS.
THERE YOU HAVE IT! This disclaimer
could very well save my life.
December 25, 05:00 [Undisclosed location]
Somewhere in the distance I hear my name, but
I have no intention of waking up, at least not now.
I am dog tired.
It sounds again and I recognize my wife’s voice.
Okay Christmas morning is not the best time to
have your wife standing over you furious. Well, I
had somehow managed to do that.
“Anony Mous,” she calls again but this time with
a note of annoyance. I know that note and I know
better than to not heed it, sadly it means waking.
“Woman!” I think to myself; “And this is
supposed to be Christmas? I asked.
She calls me once more and says, “Why….”
The rest drowns off and sleep cuts from my eyes
immediately, I sit up grudgingly but attentively.
That woman never calls me by my name unless I
am in trouble. To skip the “Hun” or my yard name
is bad already but to go to the “Why” is critical. I
have come to know that my wife is a natural born
lawyer. She never asks a WHY question for which
she has not the answer; is not to trap me or is not
rhetorical-none of those options are appeasing.
I sit up and try to rock my brain which is forced
to go into the overload without enough warning.
I come up with only one thing. I pushed the alarm
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