The End of My Marriage
As I walked home from work I began to ponder. Thinking not about the voluptuous turkey my wife Nancy would have waiting for me on the dining room table, but our soon to be born baby boy. I had never thought this far into the future but there was something that caused me worry. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it was a feeling nagging me in my stomach like something bad was going to happen. It felt as if seven piranhas were teething from the inside. Then it hit me…… I was hungry, so I started thinking of the turkey and forgot about our baby.
As I quietly entered the house I swayed into the dining room. It looked oddly different than usual, rearranged or… something, but I tried not to let Nancy realize my return; she would inevitably make me halt my planned mastication on the delectable fodder. To my surprise the dining room lacked the scent of turkey. Usually I would be smacked by a cloud of aroma emitted from the freshly cooked bird, but not today. I was frightened to look bottomward at the dining room table, but I did and to my horror I saw something that haunted my thoughts and dreams. No turkey. I charged into the strangely different kitchen to see that nobody was there, just a lowly kitten that I had never laid eyes on before. The kitten rubbed its furry hide against my leg covering my black khakis with a layer of fuzz as if it knew me. I could only draw one conclusion. My wife Nancy had been transformed to a kitten. To support this conclusion I had to extract further evidence that this was in fact Nancy. I conducted a series of tests. First I tickled the kitten behind the ear, Nancy liked that. The kitten showed no responce. Then I kissed the cat and as I did my neighbor, Jim Hadskey, appeared through the door in his felt crimson bathrobe. Then I came to a realization. I was in the wrong house. Jim loudly inquired why I was in his home and smooching his feline. I attemted an explanation, but he threw me out before I could mutter a word.
As I thought, it was a bit odd of what I had done. We did have the same architect; Michael Munroe. I know this because of his marriage with my beloved cousin Rose and it was them who told Nancy and I about our soon to be home. As I took long anxious strides into my real house I set down my black leather briefcase on the oak floor and rested at the table and ate my turkey. I told Nancy about the incident and she departed the room calling me various names such as buffoon and an imbecile. I suppose it was deserved, but I stood up with anger and followed her into further room. There I struck her. It followed with a thump to the floor and a bloody sniffer. I couldn’t fathom what I had done. She picked up the sharpest thing that was within reach and jabbed me in the chest with it. I fell to the floor in agony and woke up hours later with my work partner Martin Frisby towering over me. He recounted how he found me here unconscious with a thumb tack sticking in my chest. He informed me that of someones attempt on my life. I decided to let the case go considering the fact that I was the one who struck first. I could only assume that this was the end of Nancy and me.
Created: Mar 28, 2010Document Media