He took out another pill and swallowed it to join the others.Albert started feeling less grumpy. Even the familiar thump outside his front door didn't bother him as much as usual. It was the newspaper delivery. By the sound he knew that it had bounced off the porch when the deliveryman tossed it. It would mean going out to retrieve it; an extra set of steps; longer time in the cold air; back up the steps again. Sometimes, when it happened in winter, he would just leave the paper out there, afraid of the ice. Today, he would take care of it."I've got to eat something. I need some breakfast," he said. He decided on orange juice and coffee. Anything more would be too much a bother. He shuffled to the kitchen to make it. He was a good cook.At ten-thirty Albert heard the sharp rap on the door that he was expecting."Hello, Albert, it's Cindy!" a young, female voice called, and then Albert heard the door close. It was a lilting, pleasant, singing kind of voice that was neither shy nor. But I’m definitely not taking this lying down. Come on, I work 13 hour days and I get this shit because I need to stop for a drink! Why the hell isn’t my wife helping me with things? Why doesn’t she understand I’m fucking stressed out and need some ‘ME’ time? We’re supposed to be a team dammit so why isn’t she making me feel better? As I pulled into my drive, a plan started to develop on how my wife was going to understand exactly how it feels to be under appreciated. I was almost smiling when I opened the door, but as I walked in my wife was sitting in the living room with some of her friends laughing their collective fat asses off. Before the cackling hens realized I was there, I overheard their continued belittling of my glued manhood. Oh yeah, she’s gonna pay. When they finally noticed me standing there I had already poked myself in the eyes and forced a few tears down my cheeks. Suddenly things weren’t so funny any more and they all looked very uncomfortable. My wife especially.
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