.
Not only can he not keep his greasy hands away from his food, but he must scratch his eyeball too?
.
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He KNOWS that he is seriously testing the limits of my self-control.
Isnt’ that what marriage does to us at times? Though I suspect that my marital testing is rather singular. I take no pride in that.
In fact, I feel very, very alone. I mean, how many other women have to suffer sewage in food containers?
I am so, so alone.
I know him well enough to know this —— Sid is smiling while he takes that bite. He tries to hide it by not looking at me, but I saw the twinkle in his eyes.
.
.
It’s like a train wreck. I can’t look away.
Though I really, really want to.
And to forget I ever saw this.
.
.
Yep, he is playing me —hands cradling the face of my beautiful child that I labored to bring into this world and have labored to raise.
.
.
Don’t worry. I will get him back, this Creator of my Angst.
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PS For clarification . . . . .Sid washed his hands before he made a tortilla wrap and man-handled our child. The grease on his hands is what was left after much scrubbing (he assures me). There was no evidence of grease on my dear child’s skin. I couldn’t verify the tortilla wrap since he ate it. He was absolutely forbidden to touch me until he found a way to get completely cleaned up. Still, I would have preferred that he eat with a fork and not touch our children. Let there be no doubt —– the man was testing me.
Prairie Sings 