LOU RASMUS

“I want to buy a boat.”

She looks at me, head cocked to the side, and says, “with what money?”

I stop, shrug my shoulders, then put on as confident a face as I can manage: “I have some savings.” And I say this, even though I know that she knows that I have no savings.

“You have no savings,” she says flatly.

“I could have some savings.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot,” she says mockingly, with one of her eyebrows raised in this way that makes it even more obvious that she is mocking me. “You could have some money, if you didn’t have to buy a pack of cigarettes a day, or go through an entire case of beer in two days, or – or, or, or! – maybe, if you could get off your lazy ass and work more than twenty hours a week, you could have some money.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you,” she says with a smirk. “I’m insulting you, you sack of shit.”

“Babe,” I say, all weak and whimpery, “don’t  be like that.”

“Oh, Lou, you’re such a baby.”

“I’m sorry that I love you. I just want you’re support.”

Then she giggles – she fucking giggles – and she says, “I love you, too. Which is why I bought you a boat.”

I feel my face go dumb: “what?”

“Happy birthday.”