Wednesday, July 28, 2010
SOMETIMES I HAVE TO GET AWAY FROM MY WOMAN BECAUSE SHE'S KILLING ME.
This is not a story of unrepentant love, nor the villainous trail of a night-stalker. But my woman is killing me. If loving her is wrong, I don't want to be right, but sometimes I have to catch my hat.
See, I am one spoiled brotha. From my perspective, I have the best woman in the world. The love she has shown me, has turn me into a lazy man, and that's killing me.
I don't have to iron my own clothes or take out the trash. I once loved to see the fresh creases in my clothe that I picked up from the cleaners, but they ain't got nothing on her. She looks at me like I am crazy if I even think about putting a shirt in the cleaners. That's not a bad thing but she's killing me.
She loves to cook and I love to eat, and my weight is getting out of hand. Sometimes I get so stuffed, I can't do anything except lay down like a hibernating bear. The woman is killing me.
When I am at her house, she always smells delicious and the house has a soft smell. We love the same music and she's the procurer of all of it. I just sit on my lazy behind and enjoy the moments.
Every morning she goes to the gym. If I stayed over, she doesn't grind her coffee like she normally does or turn on my lights, because she said she doesn't want to wake me. When she's gone, I roll over to the middle of the bed and continue working on my fat cells. You know, doing nothing but wondering when she's coming back to fix me breakfast.
She even reads all my ridiculous scribblings... before anyone else. She always says, that's pretty good. See, she knows what to say, she strokes me and she's killing me at the same time. I know much of my writings are in dire need of correction. But, she makes me feel good.
I know, I'm a spoiled fat slob. Well, I'm not a slob but my woman is killing me. I don't even have to wash her car, although I did add a pint of oil last month. That reminds me, she even picks out my clothes. She takes my suits to the clothing store and matches them with a tie. I know... I know...
At my house, I don't even wash my own dishes or vacuum or dust, she won't let me. Well, maybe I should say I am lazy and she can't stand the mess. But while I am at my house, I do put my own dirty clothes in laundry bags, so I can take them to her house. Hey, I have to load them in her car.
Besides, I need to get out and do some serious exercising. I love to ride my bicycle but the one I have is at her house, and when I go there, she kills me. I can smell the pound cake she's cooking right now. And since she does all the grocery shopping (mine and hers) I'll have to remind her to get the whipped cream and strawberries. Heck, while she's out, I think I'll ask her if she would stop by the Red Box or Blockbusters to pick up a couple of movies. But wait, I better be careful because she might select one of those Tyler Perry films and that would definitely kill me.
Yep, my woman is killing me, but if loving her is wrong, I don't want to do right. I just have to get away from her, sometimes.