Fleas and Leaving

Harriet, you never could take care of animals. I was the pet person in our house.

Yes, of course, Dear. A real Dr. Doolittle. This dog is infested. That’s what I get for letting that dreadful woman next door take care of him for the weekend. He’s filthy…poor widdle Winston.

I always hated that dog, despite his adoring me.

Ha! He didn’t adore you, Martin. He just wanted to stay close enough to bite your face off.

Yes, all eleven pounds of him. Could you PLEASE stop his infernal yapping! How DO you stand it?

He’s my baby. God knows we never had a chance at kids, but he makes up for it. These bloody fleas though. They’re driving me mad. Driving him mad, too.

He was already crazy when you took him in. Harriet honestly! You pluck them off and hurl them to the floor as though you think the fall will kill them.

I’ll take him to the vet. That should fix his awful problem.

The only problem that dog has, wife, is you.

Jolly good thing I’m not your problem any longer, eh Martin?

I’d give a big hip hooray on that one, Darling.

By the way Martin, any word yet on your departure? It’s been ages since the funeral. I’d like my life back, if it’s not too much trouble.

Harriet, I have no idea if it’s too much trouble or not. I do not have a pipeline to the Almighty. I have no clue what I’m doing when I’m not here. I’m not sure I exist at all when I’m not here.

Well if you must stay so long Martin, don’t interfere with my life. I have a life. You do not. Not any longer. Even though you’ve always been mildly entertaining, this routine is getting a little old.

I’ll be sure to pass the message on, Dear.

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