Wednesday, August 7, 2013 at Balzac’s
from the macadamia oil bottle
Barry started… knitting. Don’t you dare fucking laugh. I’ll kick you in the tit. His shrink told him to do it. Said it’ll calm him right down. When he’s wigging out, when he’s about to lose it? He should go on down to the fucking family room and practise his “softness”. Her words, not mine. His shrink. Never met the lady but she sounds like a real piece of work. Barry says she’s got this big ol’ nose, and big ol’ hair to go along with it. She’s “plump”, that’s what Barry says. She gives that real nurturing vibe. He must love that. Must get real gushy with her. So, we’re getting in this nasty fight because I get home and I see he hasn’t even left the fucking couch all day, watching Eddie Murphy movies or something, and I’m losing it, I really am. Barry is about to scream, his veins are popping in his forehead, sure sign he’s gonna scream. He walks away. Next thing I hear is them needles clinking. Says he making a pot holder.