"A Child? No, I Don’t Want

Sarper is off to discuss the touchy issue with his parents on this seemingly cold day requiring an outer jacket unbuttoned enough to provide us, the adoring public, with an always thrilling peek of his muscled tattooed right breast. We can see that the acorn doesn’t fall far from the proverbial Serka patriarchal tree. He thinks women’s sole, primary, and hallowed purpose is to procreate. If a man wants to be a father, gratifying his parent’s wishes to become grandparents, then a woman should sacrifice. It’s a problem. He was going to propose but Shekhina’s resistance is dissipating his motivation. “I have to reconsider everything.” Shekinah, for her part, has been blindsided by an issue she thought was resolved; unfortunately, when Sarper, like a child whose attention span is easily redirected, latches on to an idea, he’s a growling bulldog that won’t let go of the knickers.

A romantic date at a hammam should grease the wheels. The water is crystal clear and when not kissing your significant other, someone is lathering and rinsing you. Now is the time to reveal that son-parent talk. Shekinah explains that the father of her child abandoned her heaping the responsibility on her shoulders of raising her child alone. Predictably, Sarper swears he will never leave her and discredits her experience - an inadvisable move and one that precipitates backfire engendering asshole-ness. Carpe diem. “Oh well, we’ll live together until we get bored and you can go back to your country.” Shekinah’s eyes pop out of her head in disbelief as she watches a non-issue turn into an ultimatum, for “if the future doesn’t = children, there is nothing. I don’t care what you experienced before,” he declares thoughtlessly. “You sound like a little spoiled brat right now,” she declaims. Regressing into his reactive counter-blaming child, he can only self-righteously sulk in his inimitable way. “You are so strict. I never thought I would want a kid from a girl and she will reject me. Okay. That has to be. It’s karma of 2500; I know that.” “I told you to please stop talking about your disgusting numbers.” "All truths I’m telling you. Do you love me when I am an ass xxxx? “No,” decidedly not. "This is a fucked up conversation. Thank you so much, he mocks. “You’re so welcome,” she slams back; “don’t talk to me for the rest of the day.” Lost for the final word, Sarper can only retaliate with, “Fuck off,” to which Shekinah responds, “You xxxx yourself!” One thing about them tables . . . They always Turn.

I’m Tired

Yohan isn’t Santa as much as he’s coal in the stocking, the permafrost in the Arctic, and the Boomerang Nebula in the constellation Centaurus. Whether his grandiosity is the result of a personality disorder and/or is rooted in victimhood, and despite all Daniele’s cluster of faults, Yohan is the ultimate Take me as I am or Watch me as I go, scoundrel*.* The guy with no money - the cost to be decent, impracticably organizes a Toy Drive so the neighborhood kids can get gifts on their wish list that some nameless Americans will buy; and, unbeknownst to Daniele, will be consigned to pay the shipping and costs, in the same way, she’ll have to pay January’s rent and the rental money for the car because the only thing in Fuck Boi’s pants is not 7500 pesos that wouldn’t be doled out to her even if he had it, but a dick that would put a Bush Champion cucumber to shame*.* He’s going to tell her now that he’s not paying a dime for rent. "Before I met you, I lived with my parents. I had a job. I was good. You’re happy paying rent, renting a car. I’m not happy like that.

Daniele is starting to see the dark at the end of the tunnel. “We’re not going to keep having the same conversation. What do you think? That you’ll live here for nothing and I’ll pay for everything”? Well, “You came here to the DR. Did you say that I need to pay 7500 pesos to live together? No, you did not say that. You said we’ll have a good life and you said I’d get my papers. I don’t have xxxx.” “Honestly, I’ve given you everything. I’ve paid for your Zumba classes; I bought you a computer. You don’t even say thank you. You expect it!” Unemotionally, he asks, “Thank you for what”? “Don’t say I didn’t do anything for you,” she keens. “Nada. You’ve helped me with nothing.” What? “I do so much for you and you have no love. You just want a house and a car. You don’t want a wife.” Yohan slices through this forest of words with a machete. “This relationship isn’t going anywhere. I’ll never move forward having to pay rent here, rent there. That’s not the life I want. I told you I’m not giving you any $. Yes, I’m leaving. I’ve put up with too much of your crap.”

Her eyes are welling up with tears. Dear, didn’t you read the writing on the wall at the refusal of your man to publicly thank you for the surprise birthday party you threw him? No, you stayed and got played so now he’s taking all those fine colorful clothes that really belong to you; and if that wasn’t enough to further humiliate and provoke you, he’s tucking Gizmo - the precious puppy you used to carry everywhere and stroke instead of him, under his arm like an offensive football player intending to pass the ball without fumbling. Karma has everyone’s address . . . and a motherfucking stamp.

Don’t Speak Too Much or There Will be Discord

TJ is finally moving upstairs. Time to talk about rules and household duties. “Your life was different before marriage, right? You used to do whatever and whenever you wanted. Now, you have to understand a little,” Alka explains patiently. “It’s time to learn some new things. One is getting up a little early in the morning, by 6:00 am, not 5:00 am, and then doing some cleaning. The dishes. We never leave dishes overnight.” TJ, standing next to Kimberly, like the good angel opposite Yash with two painted lines rather devilishly painted on either side of the bridge of his nose like the bad angel, is breezily and loosely translating while Kimberly is trying to tightly hold onto her promise to go along to get along. “I’m not freaking washing the dishes.” “Okay, maybe you are doing it once in a while,” coos TJ, the emollient. “What is the problem with her?” Alka pipes up. “You’ll do the sweeping, right”? TJ recapitulates, “You can broom a little bit. You’ll manage me and the food.” “Yeah,” Yash adds, “Just make a small amount for me. How many things you know? Like how many recipes”? “Not many,” Kimberly admits, but she’s willing to cheerfully learn. Even during the beginning of the dung patties burning with the anti-microbial propertied smoke spreading “used to purify the things because cow is god. Shall I sprinkle cow urine on every door? Just a few few drops.” Sweet sweet Jesus! “I try to be respectful of other customs, but I draw the line at this. Right here! This is disgusting and you have trouble with garlic”?

Now, Alka says, after honoring Ganesha, she and Kimberly can prep and cook, but first, they’ll clean the counter because cleanliness is next to cow-lee-ness. "She uses the same rag to clean cow shit to clean food, shrieks Kimberly. “She creates much drama,” Alka moans. “From this point, we’re doing things my way in my house,” forecasts a resolute Kimberly. The chill pill I took this morning appears to be a placebo.

Our Lady of the Parish of Can’t Someone Else Just Do It?

It’s the day before the wedding and the affianced couple has had yet another blowout of an argument over money. Mary is de-stressing in the pew of her local church tracing the course of Jesus’ blood drops falling from the cross to which he is nailed for comfort. If he can beatifically smile through his ordeal, then she can dispassionately consider her own route. Until now, she hasn’t known how to ask for help even if there had been someone to ask. But it sure helps when Angela comes sliding in. She confides in her future mother-in-law that Brandan isn’t helping her so she’s 50/50 on marrying him. Angela is doing her best to forge a relationship with Mary and doesn’t automatically take her son’s side. “Brandan is clearly part of the problem.” "We’re in debt and he’s blaming me that I don’t know how to balance the budget. It hurts me because I want him to help me with that finances, but he just too focused on playing games. I don’t know why he’s like that

Angela nods and admits that her son has been playing games since he was a kid. "He had no plan to make money in the future. He kept saying he didn’t care about money; he just wanted to be with you, and that was one of the reasons I didn’t want him to come. Having no plan is “self-sabotage at its finest.” Time spent playing games is time not doing something else. Video game addicts are a vulnerable population seeking like-interest communities for friendship and belonging so their sense of obligation and commitment will be more to the game than real-life responsibilities. Angela’s addiction and concurrent truancy surely didn’t help to promote stability and judgment. Angela’s words of wisdom are particularly sage, “You don’t marry the person you can live with; you marry the person you can’t live without.” But, you can’t only live on love like you can’t eat adobo every day without getting sick of it . Men should be glad women want equality and not revenge.