“Look at me when I’m talking to you!”
I actually do feel really bad that she was maced. She looks like hell and I’m sure it doesn’t feel that great.
When I had got a phone call from some person named Doctor Madison telling me she received a text from my wife saying, “I pooped on the police and killed an ambulance. Bring handcuffs,” I was a little confused, albeit intrigued. Who was I to judge my wife’s kinkiness? I called Jenny right away and could only hear screaming and crying in the background and something about her eyes melting. When I got to the scene, my father was curled up in the fetal position in the parking lot where he crawled as far away from the girls as he could. He made me promise that I would keep Liz at least ten to twenty feet away from him at all times because she threatened to dig out his eyes with her belt buckle and he really thought she’d do it.
After getting my dad, Liz, and Claire home, I admitted to Jenny in the car about hiring my dad to follow her. I had figured it was safer that way. She wouldn’t kill me while she was half blind and I was driving. She had ignored me the rest of the way home.
Now we are here, and she is only a few feet away from a kitchen full of sharp objects.
“You’re telling me, you thought I was FAKING A WORK INJURY and you had your dad follow me? I thought I had some crazy stalker tailing me all day and he was going to induct me.”
Yep, full on laughing right now. There’s no hope for me. I’ve already accepted my fate of sleeping on the couch for the rest of eternity.
“Was this stalker going to induct you into the Stupid Crime Stoppers Hall of Fame?”
Jenny grabs the wet towel from the couch and re-covers her eyes, resting her head on the back of the couch.
“I can’t even look at you right now I’m so angry. Why in the hell would you think I was faking an injury and trying to cheat Claire out of money? And your father? Really? You actually hired your insane father to follow me around? Did you see what he was wearing? Full on camouflage, a hat with branches glued to the top of it, and leaves painted all over his face. That is not normal, Drew.”
Would now be a bad time to point out that all three women were dressed as slutty burglars?
I shrug even though she can’t see me. “What can I say, he really gets into his work. And he said to tell you he was sorry.”
She doesn’t say a word. She just keeps her head on the back of the couch and the towel over her eyes. I feel like I'm in the principal’s office, standing in front of her desk waiting for my punishment like that one time in high school when I put a little black skirt over the figure on the boy’s bathroom door in an attempt to get some hot chicks to walk in on guys pissing. Instead, the principal had walked in on a Freshman whacking off during fourth period. The principal had ignored me for an hour before she finally gave me my punishment. I don’t want to stand here for an hour. The kids are asleep and Tosh.0 is coming on soon.
“Um, are we done here?” I ask.
“Did you seriously just say that to me?!” Jenny screeches.
How is it possible for women to hit decibels with their voices that even dogs can’t hear?
“Yes, we’re done here. You can explain your stupidity to Doctor Madison tomorrow when we go for marriage counseling.”
I’m sorry, what?
“So, Drew, tell me why you think you’re here?”
I stare at the woman sitting across from us wearing a long flowing skirt, Birkenstocks, and yellow tinted glasses. The smell of incense is so strong in here I think I’m going to be sick, and the soft sounds of Simon and Garfunkel coming from her radio in the corner makes me want to take a nap.
“I have no idea what the hell I’m doing here aside from having a bad '60s flashback,” I mutter.
Jenny smacks my arm and I let out a big sigh.
“Oh it’s okay, Jenny. This is a room of honesty. Your husband is free to express whatever is in his heart and mind when he’s in this room without fear of judgment. I’ll make this a little easier on you since it’s your first time here. Jenny has explained to me over the phone that the two of you are having some communication issues. Is that correct?” she asks.
“Um, sure. I guess,” I say with a shrug.
I don’t know this woman, and I’m sure as hell not going to tell her the only communication problem my wife and I have right now is that her vagina doesn’t want to speak to my dick. Hippy chick here will look right at my penis and wonder what’s wrong with me. This stranger is going to think I have a third ball or my penis is shaped like a horseshoe.
“My penis is fine!” I shout.
Might as well put that out there before she gets any funny ideas. She doesn’t even bat an eye at my outburst, just folds her hand in her lap and smiles at me.
“You have a real connection with your penis, is that correct?”
Is this really happening right now?
“Um, well, it IS connected to my body, so yes. I’m sort of connected to it.”
She just smiles at me again and then points to my shirt. “I was referring to your shirt.”
I glance down and realize I’m wearing one that says: I puffy heart my penis. Let me show you why.
“I think I can sense what the root of the problem is here. You two just had a baby not that long ago. Sometimes it’s difficult for couples to connect again after something this life altering happens. What we need to do is get you two to connect.”