I saw this cute girl walking with her (i thought) boyfriend. He was carrying her bag and a laptop bag. Neither looked particularly heavy.
He was wearing a tan sports jacket and a blue t-shirt. You could tell he thought he was cool by the way he walked. Actually, I am sure he's thought he was cool and has walked like that since he was 12.
He had thick arms- from creatin and beer- not from strength. He had rosy cheeks- not from youth but from booze.
He looked like a guy that had a quick temper and a slow mind. Like he never has read a book for pleasure, like he doesn't know who Kurt Vonnegut Jr. is. And like he wouldn't google it to now know after reading this.
He looked like he had done well for himself. He had a reaaaal catch. She had a style about her- but more importantly- she put up with his rubbish and smiled. She had married him. Further, she will probably stay with him and raise his children.. and tell them how great their daddy is.
She will cook him meat loaf.
The couple.Above is a picture of this couple-- I tried to take a picture of them while on the moving walkway.
The Wife. The wife buying her magazine.. her bag on the ground. 
The husband that sucks. The guy in the tan jacket.. he is the husband. .
Before you start to falsely believe that my disdain for this man is rooted in his unintelligent appearance and his wrinkled suit coat—don’t think I am this mean.
It stems from the way he treats his wife.
He barked at her and said, “why the hell am I carrying your bag.. you can carry it yourself.” She asked him to get her a sandwich and he said, “you can stand in line and get one yourself.” Then he swaggered away. Gag.
Why are you carrying it? Well, because it is the nice thing to do.
Why couldn’t have he just said, “I can’t hold this while I wait in line.”
Life is far too long to put up with that. Far too long. The ten minutes that I watched this man was too long.
Let’s imagine their marriage lasts to death. She has about 60 years to live with that crap. 60 years of someone not doing you any favors. 60 years. He probably goes to strip clubs and tells her about their great bodies. He probably gets drunk and falls asleep on the couch while she lays in bed reading a romance novel.
I WOULD RATHER DO IT ALONE. At least I think I would. I would rather jump my own car, cook for myself, and mow my own yard. I would rather shovel my snow, feed my animals, take out the trash, and figure out a mortgage myself.
I’d rather jump from meaningless relationship to meaningless relationship than to have one meaningfully stupid and horrible relationship with a man who yelled at me all the time.
What I couldn’t get is how she just got these sad eyes, said “oh sorry.” Took her bag and went and bought a magazine.
Oh sorry? As though it is your fault that your husband has an attitude problem? Oh sorry? OOOOH. I suppose if I were her, I would just say “oh sorry” too- just to avoid a conflict with idiocy and illogic. His attitude was so gross. The way he looked at her- the way he treated other people. Gag.
I was tempted to take a piece of paper and write on it. “www.malatencion.blogspot.com, I am writing a story about you” and hand it to him.
My message would be to her: don’t have kids until you’ve tamed his temper.
But, that’s not my business. What is my business?
My business is how glad I am that I am lucky. Because you see, the thing is, I could be her. I could have sad complacent eyes and be putting up with some meat-head’s illogic. Had I been so lucky to be swept off my feet at a young age- I could be her. Downward eyes, making meatloaf, never getting a compliment, and living with a big fat meany.
But I am lucky. That’s all there is to it. Just lucky.
People say that it comes from living intentionally, but I don’t think so. I don’t think any of my life choices kept me from marrying a meany- the only thing that has kept me out of a bad relationship is my generally intolerant spirit and my inability to coo and coddle. And generally, it is those self-absorbed meat-head guys that need a lot of cooing because they know that underneath those 5 layers of fat is weakness and an inability to produce. I am lucky because even good, smart girls with good intentions and a list to live by get duped. I have seen it over and over and over. The girl who met the guy at church- and never kissed while laying down before marriage- she is unhappy in a marriage with a man who is lazy. The girl who got educated and met a guy in graduate school who was just like her: he works long hours and they never see each-other—he probably doesn’t even know what flavor of latte she likes—or if she even likes lattes. Or even the good girl who just flat out made a series of mistakes and landed herself in the muck and the mire.
I suppose that the girl with the floral bag and the mean husband- they could be happy and just be having a bad day- but I doubt it. Her posture and countenance said otherwise. I am lucky.
I have a boyfriend who is quick to apologize and is kind. He is handsome and he likes chickens. He carries my purse when I go to the bathroom. He puts toothpaste on my tooth-brush. He fixes my sink and he is considerate of my family. Who knows, maybe meat-head in tan was nice too. Maybe he held doors and carried bags. Maybe he just got tired of her not appreciating it? Who knows.
I am lucky. Because I could be her.
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