I Hit Because I Care

I only do it because I care.

I know, I know, that’s what they all say, but in my case, it’s true! Besides, if the Unsupportive Louse just listened occasionally, I would HAVE to hit him anymore.

You don’t believe me, I see it in your eyes. You’re horrified. But listen, you have to hear my side of the story. By the end, you’ll side with me just like you sided with Lorena Bobbit* after she cut off that cheating bastard’s faithless piece of anatomy. Taught him! (Quick advice interjection here – you can use Ms Bobbit’s knife to teach your own Mr. Bobbit a lesson. Go public with your opinion on her (whether it’s your real opinion or not.) Your willie is MINE, buddy.)

But to get back to the very deserving Unsupportive Louse…at first, as is true with all relationships, he was perfect. Or rather, we didn’t have kids to wake us up in the middle of the nigh to make me realize just how imperfect he was.

But then, post Energizer Bunny, in the middle of the night, it started to keep me up. Constantly. His major imperfection.

At first, I just flicked him a bit. Nothing big, not even noticeable really.

But then, it started to annoy me that he didn’t notice. So I’d flick him a bit harder. Or maybe whack him a bit on the shoulder. Or the back. Or his head. Just a bit. Then a bit more. Just until he rolled over. Because at first, rolling over helped.

But then it stopped helping. Instead of stopping, he’d just start snoring louder. And he doesn’t just snore loud, you see, he snores imperfectly. Every snore is different from the last. Like snowflakes, except without the pretty part.

So then, I had to hit him harder. Just hard enough so he’d almost wake up. Because if he didn’t almost wake up, he wouldn’t stop anymore. And if he didn’t stop, I couldn’t sleep. And if I don’t sleep, I might not be hitting him in bed where no one can see and only in places where the bruises don’t show…I might just start beating him for real for real. And that would be his fault too.

For years I’ve been telling him that if he’d just get some help, I could stop hitting him. And he never listens. Some mornings he wakes up complaining of a headache or a sore shoulder. I assure him if he’d see a sleep specialist, he wouldn’t get the oxygen headaches anymore. And I’m sure the shoulder is sore from all that nerdy computer gaming he does late into the night.

See, like most of the abused, he doesn’t think there’s a problem. Like most of the abused, he doesn’t realize the problem is his. If only he’d listen once in awhile.

I make sure he doesn’t quite wake up so he doesn’t have to live with the shame of knowing how terrible he is to me. Like most abusers, I only do it because I love him so much.

You’re welcome, Unsupportive Louse, you’re welcome.





*Lorena Bobbit is another antiquated “current” event that I have faith all my readers will remember anyway, or google to get the joke. Pretty much the entire story is here though, so you don’t really need to.