Well, things continue to go downhill for yours truly. First, there was last week's arrest of my girlfriend Sissy. She was finally released after several days but since then has been treating me like a second class citizen, cancelling date night, not rubbing my back, and preparing lacklustre dinners with some of the weakest flavor profiles I've ever tasted. On top of that, she's cut her hair, quit wearing makeup, and dressing in nothing but bowling shirts, baggy denim jeans, and work boots. Oh yeah, she's also smoking cigars - the smell of which makes me want to puke. What the hell happened to Sissy?
Finally it all came out last night as I attempted to institute an emergency date night:
Me: Look, I'm wearing my plumber outfit. Somebody called and said there's a clog at this house.
Sissy: Can it. I'm not in the mood.
Me: Oooh, check out my plunger...
Sissy: Get that thing away from me. I said I'm not in the mood.
Me: Look, I said I was sorry. I can't help it if I can't remember exactly who posted that stuff - you know my memory has been compromised by childhood trauma.
Sissy: It's not that.
Me: What then? Would you rather I put on my pool man outfit?
Sissy: Scooter, things changed for me in prison.
Me: What kind of things?
Sissy: You wouldn't understand what I went through - the loneliness, the desperate longing for affection...
Me: You were there less than three days.
Sissy: I had needs, Scooter. Mungo filled those needs.
Sissy: Her name is Marjorie, but everyone calls her Mungo.
Sissy: She made me realize who I really am, Scooter. From now on you need to call me Hank.
Anyway, you get the drift. Not only does the FBI have all my websites, but now I'm cohabitating with a more masculine version of myself who's got a jealous girlfriend in the big house. I've got problems.