A Winter's Day

Like those winter days where you look out your window, the sun is shining, everything is glowing white, and it looks so beautiful, it looks warm out there. Then you open the door and no, it's not warm, it's forty below. She was a charmer, in the way a con artist is a charmer. She took you in with this and that and then wham! This is my ex-wife we're talking about, this is Cheryl. Why do I feel like all ex-wives are named Cheryl?

But it's like, it was always winter, wasn't it? What, suddenly you think a miracle's gonna happen and it's gonna be, what, seventy, eighty degrees out? The snow's still there, genius. Does it look like it's melting? No! So why suddenly do you think that just because the sun is out that means something? That don't mean nothing, never has and never will. Sorry, that doesn't mean anything.

She threw me—she threw me—a surprise birthday party last year. Last holiday we ever spent together if that counts as a holiday. Invited all my friends, cooked, baked, provided an ample supply of beer, the whole nine yards and all that. But then she's complaining throughout the whole event, about the noise, about the trash and the dishes piling up. I was so surprised when the thing happened and people were jumping out and she looked so happy, ya know? To be doing something nice for me. But that wasn't gonna stop her from calling Lyle an idiot, or Danny a drunk, or when is Nate gonna marry that girl of his already, and what do you mean Wesley is still looking for a job. It's like she rounded us all up into that barrel so she could shoot us one by one. I didn't understand it. She knew who I was and knew my friends and still she did this. Now why, I ask you, would someone do such a thing? Huh? But there's some women out there and I guess that's what they do. Expressly put on this planet to make lives living hells. In their blood, deep within the roots like some unholy ancient sacrament.

No, that's not fair. It wasn't all times like that, how could it have been? But she'd find ways to turn something good into something bad. She'd smile at you and then she'd do that. Needle right at the point of weakness and then give off this look that said Who, me? Real innocent-like. And chances are I woulda left her, had she not up and left me first. And sure. Sure I miss her. Heck, I miss her every day. They make coats, don't they?