I have not been very conscientious about protecting Mr. Winky over the years. Throughout a lifetime of carelessness I have subjected him to multiple chemical burns and countless assaults from an endless variety of projectiles. Today I wacked him on his head; he never saw coming. It was an accident. I apologized profusely. Just to be clear, Mr. Winky is a euphemism for the centerpiece of my family jewels, the royal staff, if you will.
When the alarm went off at six-thirty on Valentine’s Day morning, Kellie jumped out of bed and started packing. I smothered my head with a pillow and ignored her until she started rattling around next to the bed. She dropped my Valentine’s gift on the nightstand: a 2009 Beaulieu Vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon and bag of barkTHINSTM snacking chocolate. I didn't know what the hell barkTHINSTM were, but at $15.99 a bottle she plunked down about four times what she normally spends on my wine. She's clearly guilt ridden about abandoning me on Valentine's Day.
I tried finding my wife’s condition in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, but Kellieness is not a generally accepted diagnosis. Dissociative identity disorder, more commonly known as multiple personality disorder, was the closest match I could find after ruling out the only other likely candidates, bipolar disorder or schizophrenia.
Kellie claims that marriage extends a man's life expectancy but reduces a woman's. I didn’t believe her and needed only minutes to prover her wrong, again. Studies show that married women outlive their single counterparts too. I'm tired of always being right.
