The Separate Bedroom

I no longer have a separate bedroom but I slept on the couch last night.

Sometimes I wish there was instant replay in relationships. Some foul shit happens and you both call Secaucus and wait for the ruling. Like why aren’t there 24/7 therapists on Zoc Doc that you can call, get a ruling, and perhaps not go to sleep angry, which my Mother-in-Law always says is the death knell in a relationship.

Unfortunately there are no referees or instant replays or Secaucaus. You just argue and argue until both people hate each other enough to call an attorney, which is like way too much firepower.

A couple times we had fights and I preemptively called an attorney who represented my friend’s wife that took him to the fucking cleaners. I watched him go from an ill house on the Westside of LA, owning several restaurants, to an apartment near the video store.

It was one of those apartments with a banner advertising 1 bed, 2 bed, 3 bed, and the price on front street. You know your mans is fucked up when they live in an apartment building with a price tag on the exterior of the unit.

When I was down bad I just made the ask, “___________, not trying to give you PTSD but I’ma need you to come up off __________’s attorney cause she really had you hemmed up.”

He laughed hysterically but understood.

You know an attorney is good when they ruined your homie’s life and he’s still willing to refer them out of sheer respect for the way they dunked on him in court.

I know I’m with my wife for life so I just go to the other room and fall asleep watching the 6-part Chinggis Khan documentary on Nat Geo these days.

She really likes Simply Elizabeth Granola so I ate all of it.

Now I’m fat.