The one about fist fights with dust 

So my wife and I, my better half, my kick ass roommate. My best friend until I hate her and then I need her to be my best friend, so I can complain about her to her, because I tell her everything. 

We had this huuuge fight the other day. 

It was terrible. There was breaking of things…Simon was upset. 

I used her blue toothbrush for a solid two minutes that morning…she specifically told me mine was the green one and I was like, got it. And then I didn’t got it. 

No that’s not what we fought about. It’s true. Totally took that toothbrush to germ warfare. There was bacteria everywhere. But it’s not what we fought about.

She is converting to some religion and I’m not enough for her anymore because we’re not equal. So I kicked her out. It was bad. 

I’m lying. That’s just not true. That’s stupidly obvious. I would be writing so much bad poetry. 

What DID happen. Was the following. It all started with a dog. No,no, it all started with coffee. 

We were sitting in bed drinking coffee, it was morning. And our dog, Simon. The graceful,lanky, 35 lb beagle mix, gracefully managed to hit me with all his 96 elbows as he collapsed on top of me. 

And as I was telling him how he is the best dog in the world. Because he is. I could smell something. And I thought to myself, gosh, my wife should really brush her teeth. 

And she was thinking the same thing…

And then we had a telepathic moment that only happens when you’ve been roommates who sleep together and share rooms together for a long time. We both looked at each other and then Simon. And I smelled him. And -it-was-vomit worthy. It was so bad, you could use it to catch a thief. 

He had rolled in something dead. It smelled like death and sewage. So I gathered him up and took him to the bath. 

It was so bad, I had to wash his collar in the washing machine and soak it in Pine Sol. That’s how bad it was. 

We walked out of the bathroom all clean. When the woman I love stormed passed me. Throwing clothes. And talking to herself. Then she Yelled at me, help me clean up this mess! I can’t take it anymore! 

I stood there, hoping that if I stayed really still maybe she would be like a dinosaur and not see me. 

Simon ran under the table and blew my cover. 

I was thinking to myself. Trying to figure out what I had done that morning to make her mad…

I was in the bathroom. No no , I was having coffee, I gave Simon a bath…

I gave Simon a bath. I changed the bed…we were having coffee …

I couldn’t figure anything out. 

So we had to talk about it. You know, like you’re supposed to. 

But not like in the way they do in law and order 

We weren’t trying to get kicked out of our building or end up in prison. 

We did it the old fashioned way. Like Hemingway. With boxing gloves and Shot Guns.  No not really. 

We talked about it. 

What really happened that morning was, we were on our phones and it was our off day. And I thought we were just drinking coffee and I was writing. She felt like we were wasting too much time on our phones. Rather than reading books or really being together. 

You have to talk about things 

Rather than post some deeply vague meme on social media and hope that a friend of a friend see’s it and just before pitching their pyramid scheme to your significant other-they mention it and THEN they know you’re really upset.

I feel like in a lot of ways, as I scroll through my newsfeed and pretend I’m not like everyone else…

We waste so much time online. I get it. I do. But no one really gives a shit. You know, I walk by people who look like, were it the 1950’s they’re  undercover pretending to eat  food. Staring and scrolling on their phones. 

Or I see them pulling from parking lots, Staring into their palms. Because that’s how you drive a car. 

What I realize. Is, it’s all a bubble. Designed for you. No one but you cares about what’s in your newsfeed. And no one cares about all your selfies. 

We will all die one day. Having spied on everyone else. And if we saw our flashback. We would say…”how do I look at Rachael.”  Because our newsfeed isn’t that big of a deal. 

So read a book. Walk a dog. Cook. Drink. Watch Frasier.