Pearl necklace around your neck.

Your hair coiffed just so.

Make-up gracing your pretty little face.

Dressed in pumps to welcome your husband home.

Dinner is served on the table.

Candles lit and the wine cooling.

Cookies baking in the oven.

An apron tied around your waist that says

'Kiss the Cook'.

The kitchen is clean.

His slippers waiting for him by the front door.

Preparing yourself to take his coat,

And offer to massage his feet.

He comes home and kisses your cheek,

"Hi Honey," you say in happiness.

He shakes his head in acknowledgement

And you take his coat.

He doesn't notice the way your make-up is done.

The pretty lipstick that is staining your lips.

You thought the simple gesture would get a comment.

You shrug inwardly and follow him.

He sits in his recliner, his feet ready for your daily massage.

You rub his feet and his toes.

He never says thank you but stands up and heads to the table.

He sits down in his seat waiting for you to make his plate.

You fill up his dishware with all his favorites.

You smile and say "I made meatloaf, sweetie."

He nods to you and starts eating.

You pour him a glass of wine and sit down to eat.

It is quiet at the table besides the scraping of forks against plates.

You wipe your mouth and smile at him saying, "Did you have a good day at work?"

He looks up and nods saying "Sure."

You bit your lip and wait for him to say more but he doesn't.

You hear the oven timer go off and you get up to the cookies.

But then you hear him say "Wait."

You sit back down obediently.

He looks up and says "I don't love you anymore."

You can't breathe and can't even think.

He then stands up saying "I want a divorce."

You say out loud "Why? I love you. I believe in you."

He starts walking out of the room and says "I don't care."

You sit there and stare at his empty seat,

Until you hear him say "Hun?"

You say softly "Yes, dear?"

"Make sure you take the cookies out of the oven."

Then you hear him head up stairs to pack his belongings

And leave you.

You start to smell the burning cookies and you sigh softly to yourself.

You stand up and clear the table.

Taking the blackened cookies out of the oven

And you dump them in the trash can.

You take off your pumps; rip off your apron,

Remove your pearl necklace and rubbed away your lipstick.

No more playing dress up.

Depending on your husband was your mistake.

Another demise of a house wife.

aug 20 2012 ∞
aug 20 2012 +