Story: The Brat And How He Dealt With Her, Part I

“The lights are still on?” says he to himself getting out of his vehicle one late Texas night. Wasn’t usual for his wife to be up this late on a work night. The man braced himself for trouble, but hoped for the best.

“Might be she’s stayed up excited about something good for a change?” says he to the front door.

The house was quiet. No sign of his wife in the family room. She wasn’t in the kitchen either. There she was, propped up in bed writing something with a pen and paper.

“What you still doing up?” says he.

“”Can’t sleep,” says she.

“Something specific the matter?” says he. The man knows there is, just from the set of her jaw. The brat wears her mood like a neon sign.

“No,” says she. He can hear her teeth grinding from the other side of the room. The man smiles.

“Guess we’ll find out here in a minute,” says he to himself, getting ready for the blast. “Doesn’t look like nothing to me, out with it.”

“Did I say it was nothing?” says she. The fire of temper from her eyes could have melted steel.

“You said no when I asked if something was the matter,” says he to her. “Every man knows that no plus something equals nothing,” says he to himself.

“Just shut up,” says she.

The man shakes his head. “That bad is it?” says he. The brat’s ability to think up a retort was gone. Not a good sign. Generally meant she was lost on some convoluted path of illogic. The paving stones of which were likely to be things she presumed and imagined.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” says she. That was a step closer, the man thought.

“Seems to me you need to talk about it. What ever it is you’re chewing on has got your jaw tied up in knots,” says he.

The brat stopped her writing, took hold of the pad with both hands, and slapped it down on her lap hard. The pen she was holding stuck her leg and made her wince and examine the ink mark on the quilt “F***!” says she.

“Hurt yourself?” says he with a grin.

“Shut up!” says she. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

“That’ll do!” says he. The sass meter was in the yellow zone. The man did his duty and issued a warning for the brat.

“That’ll do?” says she with sarcasm that’d freeze fire. “That will do? I will tell you just what will do! You interrogating me in the middle of the night and presuming something is the matter before I even open my mouth!”

“You’re cruising brat,” says he. “Something is the matter. Matter enough to keep you up until almost 1AM grinding your teeth to bits.”

“It doesn’t matter! I said I don’t want to talk about it. So you just shut up and go shower or something,” says she. She flips the pad down on the floor, turns on her side and reaches up to turn out the light.

“We’ll be finishing this conversation with daylight young lady,” says he. “And my hand will be doing as much talking to your butt as your mouth will be explaining your snot nose attitude.”


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