Holy Cow, Am I In Deep With The Missus

Wow, I am just in a whole world of hurt right now on the homestead.

Yes, I definitely faked my own death to score a big promotion- insensitive at worst, I would say. I certainly didn’t hear any complaining when the new range and KitchenAid dishwasher got delivered, that’s for sure. True, I also selected my son as my “most def fave” family member when threatened by the former District Attorney. Does any of this mean I deserve a few nights on the couch? I would say no.

What everyone including my wife needs to understand is that sometimes, you just love another family member a little more. That doesn’t mean I’m a bad person, it just means that when I bring home some half-ass bundle of dead flowers on our Anniversary, she should try to ignore the seven puppies I bought for the little man’s 8th B-day. It’s just like, suck it up, you know? No one comes snivelling up to me with a blanket and a cup of Whole Bean Roast coffee when I watch literally 2-300 cops get killed by a clown in one week. Do you see me crying? Or, more accurately, do you see me forgetting to dry clean my spouse’s work-clothes? You bet your ass not. Take notes, honey.

I’ll conclude by saying that in as illogically crime-ridden as a large, prosperous, generic city like Gotham might be, there’s always room for a little more tolerance. True, we live in a $200/month apartment despite my unionized Detective’s salary (realistically north of $80k; closer to $150k as a commissioner, but whatever.) We appear to be either burglarized or threatened with death semi-daily. I may have only faintly whined to Two Face that he should think about not killing my wife while screaming full-force when he threatened my McBoy, but screw it. I don’t hold a grudge when she doesn’t text me back immediately.