With only two of us left in the house, the dynamics are split 50-50 between doing whatever we want after dinner and not listening to each other when we are in the same room. The way I feel about this flip-flops between marital bliss and frustrating madness. Tonight was worse than the latter because there was another woman.
I’ve been in denial about it since Christmas but tonight she inserted herself into every conversation:
Hubby and I were talking about our daughter that flew out of town this weekend.
“If she’s in Houston, what time zone is that?” my husband thought out loud.
“Texas is Central; she’s only one hour behind us”, I responded confidently based on my business travel days.
“Alexa. What time zone is Texas?”
The lady in the corner confirmed my response in her matter-of-fact tone.
That aside, we sat down to the nice chicken I had baked. On the counter was my clever attempt at, not apple pie, but little apple empanadas. Both dinner and dessert were kind of a big deal because my husband does most of the cooking.
“Why didn’t you look up an apple pie recipe?”
“Seriously, do you know how many fall apple pies I’ve made at this house down the street from an apple orchard?” A little hurt, I added, “The contents are the same. It just looks different. I wanted to try to make some individual ones.”
“Well, Alexa could have helped you with a recipe.”
The problem with that chick was she was just too easy.
I still had some of the little tarts left to bake now that we’d eaten dinner. I put them on a tray and popped them into the oven. My husband watched, I thought in anticipation of a vanilla ice cream pairing.
Rather, “Alexa. Timer. Ten minutes.”
That bitch in my house let my man know she’d do exactly what he asked.
I seethed until my reliable oven timer went off. Alexa could step off. I’ve managed this household just fine for over 25 years. We do not need her technological, electricity sucking, unnecessary two cents every time we do something. “Now that the pies are done, I am going to just go read a book and listen to some music.”
“Alexa. Play KISS.”
They could both kiss my ass. The marital interplay was maddening. I thought it best that we split up. With a grin on my face, I went into our unplugged living room to read – and it wasn’t a recipe book from Amazon.