The seventh day of the beautiful month of May turned out to be simply magnificent for Mr. Smith. Honestly, he had good reason to feel that way - the contract with the most stubborn corporation in the United States was finally awarded, and now he was full of hopes for a promotion in his company. And that's not counting the bonuses from the deal! Of course, now you understand why Mr. Smith was in a great mood.
Mrs. Smith met her husband with a one-year-old Patrick in her arms, smiled tiredly, kissed Mr. Smith inattentively on the cheek, and retired to the kitchen to warm up dinner. The would-be deputy head of department, the position Mr. Smith was aiming for frowned. "Damn it!" he thought, "Is it really necessary to meet me with such a sour expression?! Isn't she interested in what happens at my work, in my life, after all?! She finally closed herself in her little world, sat up at home"! But on such a day, even the behavior of his wife could not spoil the mood of Mr. Smith. He just decided not to tell her about the amazing news right away. Let her descend in ignorance.
Mr. Smith took off his raincoat, put the umbrella in the basket, and went into the kitchen. Mrs. Smith was no longer there; she had gone upstairs to put Patrick to bed. But there was a delicious dinner on the table, and his eight-year-old son Eugene was spinning by the refrigerator. Mr. Smith's mood deteriorated completely. Is he such an insignificant person in his own house?!
- Hi, Dad! Eugene said hello, fishing out a large bottle of Coke from the depths of the refrigerator.
- Hi, - muttered Mr. Smith. - Where's Joan?
- In bedroom. He's probably already asleep.
Joan, the eldest sixteen-year-old daughter of the Smiths, was a teenager, with all that that implies. Her behavior was unpredictable and disturbing - she could chat via video link until the morning, and she could go to bed at ten o'clock in the evening.
Mr. Smith, deprived of even the standard lecture for eldest daughter, frowned even more.
- In that case, - he said sternly to Eugene, - put the soda down, it's bad for your health, and goes to bed too! It's already half past ten! What the hell is going on in this house?!
Eugene grunted resentfully, returned the Coke to the fridge, and proudly walked away, muttering something under his breath. Mr. Smith had a vague suspicion that his son was not giving him compliments.
Mr. Smith, completely upset, sat down at the table and began to eat his supper, looking gloomily straight ahead. "Thank God" - he thought, - "At least at work they appreciate me"! Twenty minutes later Mrs. Smith entered the kitchen. She glanced at her husband, took her plate, and sat down at the opposite end of the table. "How does she do it"?! - Mr. Smith thought irritably, - "She even sits down at the round table in such a way that she always turns out to be exactly opposite"! But he didn't say anything.
- You're late today, - said Mrs. Smith.
- Have you noticed? - Her husband answered sarcastically.
Mrs. Smith looked him straight in the eyes. It must be admitted that Mr. Smith did not like this look very much, in which there was not even a hint of alarm or resentment, but there was a cold, clear and precise question that always unsettles Mr. Smith. It was completely impossible to return that look, so he stood up, walked over to a small bar, and took out a bottle of wine and two glasses. Now Mrs. Smith looked at what was happening with a note of interest.
- So, nothing special, - Mr. Smith said in an accentuated indifference, - turned out a large and very complex deal. There will be a good bonus and, perhaps, I will be promoted to deputy head of the department.
Mrs. Smith smiled and took a sip of her wine.
- Very well, dear, - she replied, - that's really good news.
Mr Smith chuckled.
- And I'm tired, - the wife continued, - Patrick was in good shape today, Eugene did not leave the refrigerator, and Joan...
- Good news? – Interrupted her Mr. Smith, - Seriously? Is that all you can tell me? I courted this client for two months, worked like an ox for this money and for position, and you are "good news"?!
Mrs. Smith sighed.
- I just wanted to say that I'm tired too, honey.
If there was anything that could irritate Mr. Smith even more, it was this outrageous phrase.
- You are tired?! You?! From what?! From sitting at home and chatting with friends? From rearranging a single flower pot from place to place?! From dusting furniture and going to the store once a week?!
If there was one thing that really pissed off Mrs. Smith, it was disrespect for her and her work. Mr. Smith did not even suspect at that moment what a thin hair separates him from a real disaster.
Mrs. Smith leaned forward and gazed into her husband's eyes for a couple of minutes, her reddened lips never leaving the rim of her glass of scarlet wine. It seemed to Mr. Smith that his wife, whom he had known for 18 years, had changed a lot - her eyes seemed to have become greener, her hair was slightly curled, and her facial features were noticeably sharpened. Mrs. Smith smiled, but this time her smile did not bode well.
- So you're talking about chatting with your friends? - The wife chuckled. - So you're talking about dusting furniture? Well, honey, let's take a closer look at this.
Mrs. Smith held out her elegant hand with her index finger extended.
- Let's start with the fact that I'm a chef who prepares breakfasts, lunches, dinners for the whole family, and sometimes snacks, if any of you decide to just chew on something. Count, dear, how much time and money does it take me? A little hint - one dinner at home from the chef of a mediocre restaurant costs about $ 1,500. As a successful manager, it will be easy for you to make calculations, right?
Mr Smith rubbed his eyes. No, everything was fine with his eyesight, but on the other hand, he began to have real hallucinations - a woman cook was sitting opposite him in a puff of steam and non-stop cooking something on three huge electric stoves.
However, the obsession quickly disappeared, and Mrs. Smith still sat opposite, sipping wine and mercilessly unbending her fingers.
- Second. You seem to have forgotten that I gave birth, fed and raised our two children, and now I am actively engaged in the third? How much do you value my sacrifice of my own body, my devotion to my family, my time and the attention I give to my children? Or maybe you would like us to use the services of surrogate mothers to keep my beautiful body intact? Well, it would cost us about 100 - 150 thousand dollars!
And again, daydreams struck Mr. Smith's imagination - this time, instead of his wife, an alien with green skin was sitting, in such a revealing costume that Mr. Smith was horrified to find that his precious wife had three huge breasts at once!
And again the veil fell, and there is no longer any alien - only the cunning squint of Mrs. Smith, contemptuously studying her hushed husband.
- I almost forgot, honey. What about sex? For the past 18 years I have been pleasing you, giving you pleasure, agreeing to various idiotic experiments, buying expensive underwear, taking care of my appearance, although every year it is more and more difficult for me to do this. How much would you rate these services of mine, my dear husband - the lord of handcuffs, whips and nipple clamps? What about my appearance? Do you know how much visits to a beauty salon cost me, how much time and effort I spend to stay young and beautiful? Do you think I do this solely for myself? No dear! I do it for you. I want your interest not to go out so that you can be proud of your wife in front of friends, colleagues and partners! So that you won't be ashamed of me, after all!
Flushed with shame, "dear spouse" was silent, carefully examining the geisha sitting opposite in a classic kimono and makeup.
The hallucination disappeared again, only to give way to a new delusion. For the next two hours, the unfortunate Mr. Smith saw in front of him the Business Woman, the Old Maid surrounded by many cats, the Hindu Rastaman, the Astronaut Woman, the Politician Woman in a formal suit, the Stern Woman Construction Worker, the Killingly Erotic Nurse, the Professional Driver of an obviously lesbian sexual orientation, as well as the Teacher, the Cleaner, the Psychologist, the Military, the Confectioner, the Firefighter and even the Killer of Rodents and Insects. All the images were different, and did not at all resemble the usual appearance of Mrs. Smith. It must be admitted that Mr. Smith remained silent during each reincarnation of his wife, but the terrible image of the Killer of Rodent brought him out of his hypnotic stupor.
- What?! - He exclaimed softly. - Do you really have to do this too?
- Of course, - said Mrs. Smith coolly. - Who do you think is doing everything to ensure that bugs do not crawl in our kitchen, and rats do not arrange parties with invited guests in the basement? That's also one of my responsibilities, since you're too busy arranging deals with big corporations. So, my dear, - Mrs. Smith effectively finished her wine, - I'll go to bed, and you lie down on the couch in the living room and think carefully about my words.
When his wife left, Mr. Smith busied himself with the calculations. When the numbers turned from a chaotic set of symbols into relentlessly logical columns, he realized that he owed his wife about one and a half million dollars for 18 years of married life. Extremely upset by these figures, Mr. Smith finished his wine and went to sleep on the couch.
Mr Smith's nightmare
Mr Smith had a terrible dream. In a nightmare, he had to do everything himself - wash, iron, cook, clean, chase huge fat rats, feed children, do homework with them, go shopping, fasten baseboards that had moved away from the wall, choose their own clothes. Mr. Smith tossed about in his sleep, screaming, crying, and demanding higher wages and the formation of a union. He didn't do anything and, as it turned out, he didn't know how to do anything.
The morning of May 8 found Mr. Smith in a very depressed state. A feeling of vexation with himself and injustice towards his wife burned his heart. As it was a holiday, Mrs. Smith and the children were still asleep. Mr. Smith looked at himself in the mirror, sighed, and went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the whole family.
Author Roman Luka 02.02.2022
