My name is Brooke, and I just turned 21 at the end of February. Which, if you count backwards to October, means I was married at the ripe old age of 20, when most of my peers are out cruising bars or parties in hopes to get laid. Not to find a marriage partner. So, needless to say, when I announced my decision to marry my boyfriend of a year and a half, Ben, I received more puzzled looks than congratulations. Actually, the most commonly asked questions were "Are you insane?" and "Are you pregnant?!?!?!" The latter being absolutely unthinkable (children both terrify and disgust me), I would have to lean more towards the former. And, almost six months into marriage, I'm officially pretty sure that I am, in fact, crazy.
When I got into this thing (and by thing I mean marriage) my husband was successfully employed by an engineering company working with computers, leaving me free to go to school and neatly finish off my degree without any major financial hurdles. Now, thanks to the plummeting economy, my husband is jobless and we are stuck in our ridiculously overpriced downtown apartment with no income save his meager severance and unemployment in an amount so arbitrary I'm actually embarrassed of the institution.
So, three weeks into utter joblessness, where are we?
My husband is presently sitting on the couch, playing Assassin's Creed on the Playstation 3. I think I've spoken, oh, four or five sentences to him today. See, my husband and I usually have this really great line of communication. Add three weeks of unemployment and he's regressed about 10 years, crumbling into a 14-year-old whose attention span is only wide enough to encompass video games and food.
Note the following exchange, which took place a few hours ago:
"Sweetie!"
"What?" Ben snapped, eyes not leaving the blundering battle scene taking place on the T.V.
"Could you possibly take the trash out?"
"I'm kind of busy right now, babe, I'll get it in a minute."
"Okay. Did you put your application in for that piping place?"
"GOD DAMMIT!"
My mouth dropped open. "What did you say?!?!"
"Not you - SHIT - look what you did!" Furiously he pointed at the screen, glaring at me. His little marauder lay in a crumpled heap on the ground, obviously dead.
Screw this. I need a drink.
No comments:
Post a Comment