Weddings bring so many happy couples joy; the feeling of love is so thick in the air it’s smothering. For me and my husband Ron, even though we have been married for 30 years, weddings are always a reminder of why we got married. It was when our daughter got married, and at her wedding, however, that that was when I realized how much I hated Ron; also, I realized how much Ron hated me.
The night before the wedding, Ron and I sat in our living room watching television, reading and drinking iced tea. I heard my daughter in the other room on the phone with her soon-to-be husband and they were having a small squabble about who knows what. I looked over at Ron and said with a smile, “Remember, Ron, when we used to fight over the silliest of things?” He turned in his recliner to look at me, lowered the newspaper he was reading, and with a serious tone he said, “Hellen, we still fight about ‘the silliest of things.’” Ron raised his voice to mimic mine when he said “the silliest of things,” and my jaw dropped with surprise as I asked, “Really? What was the last silly thing we’ve fought about? You know I was just trying to have a conversation with you; have a little humor, for crying out loud.” Ron adjusted in his recliner, took off his glasses and sniffed, “Well, the last thing I can remember was you fell into the toilet because I forgot to put the seat down, ruined your peach silk monogrammed pajamas.”
You better believe that’s exactly what he did! I wouldn’t have been as mad if he had remembered to flush; anyway, not the point—I closed my book abruptly and said, “That’s right. Goodness you do so many annoying things, Ron.” Ron coughed and laughed at the same time, which made that wretched sound of gasps and sputters an old man makes, “Oh, and you don’t get on my nerves at all,” he laughed. Knowing that there was something he had to share with me, I asked, “Really? What do I do that annoys you?” Ron rubbed his hard, cracked hands together, which sounded like sandpaper scratching wood, licked his parched lips, and stood up: “You take the longest showers of any woman I know, which in return leaves me to take a cold shower; you leave empty coffee mugs in the car, bathroom, living room, and even right next to the sink; you spent way too much money on Poochie when we had him, ‘Doggie Dance Lessons’ really? And worst of all, you always start the fights that we have. Keep in mind, Hellen, that those are just a few of the things that I find annoying about you.”
I mean, you would have thought that Mount Vesuvius showed up in the living room because of how angry I was. A stream of curse words and things I can’t remember came out of my mouth and flew all around the room, bouncing off the walls and silencing the still playing television; thus, I was only getting started with my tirade when my husband grabbed my glass of iced tea and dumped it over my head, telling me to calm down and that he was going to bed. Ice down my shirt and the briny liquid stained my clothes all the way down to my pants; I calmly walked into the bathroom, reached under the sink for the bleach, grabbed my husband’s hair gel and made a half-bleach and half-gel mixture in the gel bottle, for he had now ruined another pair of my clothes.
The morning of the wedding, Ron decided not to put gel in his hair . . . until my daughter insisted that he should, but he had to do it right before he walked her down the aisle. The wedding was good and our daughter looked beautiful. We took pictures after the ceremony, and I started to see the magical effects of bleach and vengeance seeping into Ron’s head. I walked alongside him as we greeted people we knew, and I watched as people made strange faces at my masterpiece; Ron had no idea.
We found a good spot to sit, and we watched as our daughter danced with her husband. Ron and I used to dance at weddings, until he had his shoulder surgery which only allows him to lift his arm up for so long; now, we sit and chat. Ron wasn’t even looking at me when he dropped the bomb that ended our happy times together, “Have you ever lied to me? It’s okay if you have, because I’ve lied to you, too.” I wasn’t shocked by this. I honestly felt guilty because there were a few things that I had felt necessary to keep from my husband to help our marriage stay healthy; what I have hidden from Ron may be the death of our marriage; in other words, I have to tell him about what I did to his hair. I said casually, “Alright, let’s go one at a time, so we both get what we have to say off our chests.” Ron unfolded his hands, sniffed, rubbed his nose and began, “Remember how I said I loved your ‘Lemon-Onion Chicken Casserole’? Well, the thing is, I don’t like anything you’ve cooked for me . . . I always fed my dinner to the dog, Poochie, before he kicked the bucket.”
In all honesty, I hated my cooking too, but I wasn’t going to admit it to him. I tapped the table with my hand and said, “Okay, my turn: Remember when I drove your new truck to the grocery store and that shopping cart crashed into it and left that big dent? The truth is, I actually ran into a pole and said it was a shopping cart that hit me so you wouldn’t be mad at me.” The vein popped out in his forehead and he let a big huffy breath out of his nostrils, then with straight malice and seriousness he confessed, “I killed Poochie.”
When he said those words, I was frozen in my seat; yet, he continued, “When Poochie was 18 years old and about to die, I knew you were sad, so I went ahead and got you a donut from that little shop down the road to cheer you up. Well, the damn dog jumped up and snatched the donut bag out of my hands and ate the donut in two bites. The third bite, he choked on and died right there on the living room floor. I took Poochie to the vet and told him my situation. The vet, knowing you way too well, said that he would help me out. Truth is, Poochie did not die in his sleep, he died at the hands of a donut.”
I stood up, heels clicking over to the other side of the table, right to the wedding cake; I grabbed the top tier, shook the bride and groom figurines off and walked back to Ron, the dog murderer. I can’t believe I did what I did at my own daughter’s wedding, but something impactful had to be done. I heaved the 10 lb. hunk of $200 cake over my head, and with gravity on my side, I smashed the gooey, creamy goodness all over Ron’s head and lap. Ron sat completely still as I licked the icing off my thumb and screamed, “THAT’S IT!” I grabbed my purse, and with the room silent, I left the wedding, climbed into the car, pulled up Google and typed in “Divorce Lawyers.”