Dear Man Talking On Cell Phone In Crowded Waiting Room This Afternoon:

 

I think I can safely speak for everyone in the waiting room today when I say that we are all very sorry you are having marital problems.  We would have to agree with you that the fact that your wife has moved herself and all of your stereo equipment out of your apartment and into a house with another man is a definite clue that all is not well.  We are all very sorry that you have been, as you so succinctly phrased it over and over, “bitch-fucked in the heart,” but maybe next time you could lower your voice when you describe yourself, because some of those old people in the waiting room jumped a full foot into the air, sitting down, when you started in with the epithets.

 

I really don’t blame you for becoming even more upset when your wife told you that you were going to Hell for not understanding that she needed something more than you could give her.  Her suggestion that she live part-time with you and part-time with Mervayll’q, keeping score and eventually choosing the better of the two, was also unreasonable and I don’t blame you for yelling; maybe next time you have that conversation (and I’m betting you’ll have it again) you could walk outside and scream in the parking lot..

 

The Bible verses you kept quoting to her weren’t working.  Ditch that for next time, ok?  Your tone of voice and volume made them sound perverted, and you left out so many words, the verses didn’t even make sense.. 

 

I would also remind you that it’s the sperm that determines the sex of a child, not the egg.  I’m hoping you were kidding when you bawled her out about that one, but I have a bad feeling that you were serious.  In which case, you’re stupid as well as mannerless.

 

When you hung up and sat there for a moment with tears in your eyes, my heart softened.  But then you had to go and call up another woman and tell her you think you might be free for weekend after next and my heart hardened right up again.  And when you told this other woman to bring her stereo over to your place I had to hold my magazine over my face lest you see my expression which by that time was getting hard to control.  

 

Talking like Tarzan isn’t going to get you far, either.  Unless you’re talking to a woman who actually likes men who don’t know how to use helping verbs or prepositions.  If you’re actively looking, you’ll find scores of them at WalMart.

 

“You bad, woman.  You bad, woman.  You sorry, you see.  You hellbound, woman.  You don’t give me none dat, woman.  You bitch, woman, bitch-fuck my heart, woman, why you do dat, woman., why you do dis to me, you BAD, woman, you tell me I go hell I say you go first, woman . . .”

 

Then again, technically, the ‘do’ part of  “don’t give” is a helping verb. (The n’t is an adverb, in case anyone wondered.)

 

Then you phoned your wife again, and said, simply, ‘Why you do dis ting me?’  And the whole thing started up again.

 

It was a diversion, though.  The magazines were all older than dirt , about golf, and boring,  and there was no tv in the waiting room. 

 

And nobody else was saying a single word for fear of missing some of your conversation. 

 

So, thanks for the show. 

 

The people in our waiting room, and the people in the waiting room two miles down the road, all appreciated your sharing your life with them.