Our new holiday home

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I hate roses, fucking hate them. To have to look for a bunch of roses knowing fully well I had brought them with me, hurts more than to know that I don't like them. I had checked everywhere.

Talk about a holiday home in the mountain area. I knew this house was a dump and a waste of money when I bought it. Now everywhere is littered with pieces of cloth splattered with paint. Mary will paint and she won't clean up. You won't believe the kind of crappy paintings that are in that house. Mary is carrying a lamb. Its ridiculous, Mary had a little lamb, that's what she captioned it.

But Mary will say “Do you love me?”

I'll say “yes I do dear.”

She'll say “Then we need a house in the mountains.”

She won't bring out any money. I'll pay for that shit.

She'll say “Open the door for me.”

Fuck!!!! Mary you have hands.

She'll say “All I want are a bunch of roses every once in a while wouldn't hurt.”

Point of fucking correction, the fucking thorns on that bitch cut my fucking index finger and that's how I know I bought roses, the fucking thing cut my fucking finger.

And that's not all you want. You want to kill me!

This small shack that we call a holiday home in the mountain doesn't have space for me to sleep. Her painting stuff is everywhere, fucking brushes and that plate with tiny colours. Once her paint poured all over the bed.

Everyday, she'll come back from the market and I'll have to chop up some wood for us to cook and it hurts my back so much. I love this woman but she's driving me crazy.

You get me?

Why are you laughing?

It's not funny.

This is the problem I have with telling you my stories is you always think it's a joke.

So on that day, she goes to the market. She says she want to make me an Italian soup. Some weird stuff, Mike I'm telling you, don't marry an artist, especially one named Mary. I'm not even talking about how stupid Mike weds Mary wedding invitations will look. I'm just saying don't do it for the sake of your sanity.

I see her coming home, I'm afraid. You have never seen her throw tantrums. She will fake a cry and roll on the floor. Even in that sardine can we call a mountain house she'll be rolling around like a log of wood.

Fuck Mike.

I hear her laughing at the top of her lungs Mike.

She is laughing so hard, I go out to see if she's finally realised that the mountain house is a joke from the outside and inside.

It turns out there are some goats over a mound of grass. One is sitting on the ground with the baby goats just sitting around it looking like mummy goat. Then the goat I eventually hate is carrying a bouquet of flowers, my fucking flowers!!! Towards his family of goats.

Mary is laughing with tears rolling down her cheek trying to muster up words.

She said “At least this man knows never to come home without flowers.”

I'm standing there with a sheepish smile. Thinking who is this woman.