Tina used to try to switch the gender roles around on me. She the manly asshole, me the bitch. Admittedly, she did a stellar job. 

   Her dad was a hard partying Sailor and Viet-Nam Vet with a bit of a mean streak, last of ten or eleven kids raised in hardcore backwoods Arkansas. Her mom (still living) a mild-mannered sweetheart from Kansas City, Kansas. Her little brother took after her mom, she her dad-- really strange family dynamic there I always thought.

   Yes...

   These conversations were usually early in the day.

   She wasn't much of a morning person.

   I could gage how the day would play out by the look on her face when she stalked past my couch refuge where I watched my Saturday morning fishing shows, on her way from bed to refrigerator for her morning coke. 

   Now and then (but not too very often), she'd smile sweetly towards me. Those days, I'd sigh in simple relief. I am pretty simple after all. 

   More often though, I'd receive what I called the death stare, or specifically, the I wish you a slow, horrible death... stare, or maybe- glare. Instinctually, the short fine hairs on the nape of my neck would stand up, automatic defense mode you see, followed by a queasiness of gut and fine beads of forehead sweat as my internal temp quickly jumped half a degree.

   Regrigerator door slammed shut.

   Wince!

   The angry sound of the red coke can releasing it's pressure.

   Glug, glug, glug... half a can down.

   "Eh, good morning... Tina (??)" I knew better! 

   More silence, tension in the thickening air..

   "Good morning? Really? What's so fucking good about it momma's boy?"

   One of those questions that need no answer, so I wouldn't. Instead, I'd take inventory of the surroundings out of the corners of my eyes. Anything on the floor that might trip me on the way out the door? No, seems clear...

   "I see you have your moon-pie face up in the stupid fish shows again."

   "Well, yeah. I like these shows... baby." Baby-- maybe, just maybe, I could turn this around with kind flattery. Right. "You look... nice.. this morning."

   We both knew she didn't look nice!

   Hard lump developing in throat.  

   "I look nice? Well, ain't that a fine flying crock of shit. Not as nice as the bitches on bargainbasementteenagewhores.com though, right? Think you're slick erasing history, don'tya you despicable weasel. Do you suppose I'm really that stupid?"

   "Uh..."

   At this point, I knew the coke was kicking in full force.

   She'd walk towards my nervous perch, slowly, deliberately breaking through the comfort zone of my little space bubble. Then, lean in even closer.

   "Maybe, just maybe, you could spend a little less time staring at stinky fish, and fishy smelling porn sluts, and get in there and wash the fucking dishes. What the hell are we supposed to eat around here? Think that grass is going to cut itself? Bitch!"

   "Bitch?"

    DASH, out the door. Hot rush of adrenaline. Speed, of the essence. I was always a bit faster than her, but not by much as I knew all too well. 

   "WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?"

   "To get some food baby, at the lake. Was thinking... fish for supper!" 

Kisses!