by Mogambo Guru
I could see where this was going, which was my wife grinding me into the ground, picking at me because of my many faults, real or imagined, usually about the damn kids. Usually some jibber-jabber along the lines of her sweetly saying “You know, dear, that the kids and I would love it if you _____ (insert one): paid attention to them, asked them how their stupid day went, stopped being such a jerk, remembered their stupid names, or all of the above.”
So I tried to change the subject from talking about her pet peeve, which is me, to my pet peeve, which is price inflation, the dreaded Deadly Thing That Destroys Economies, since it means that relatives will soon be knock, knock, knocking at my door, begging for a handout just because they are homeless and hungry, and who get really snotty when I tell them to either get lost or drop dead, depending on my mood.
I mean, if I don’t give cash to my own family who endlessly whine about needing to go to the doctor or the dentist or the grocery store, why in hell do they think I would give it to them and their grubby little brats?