What It Would Be Like To Be Married To A Small Freshwater Duck

There is a young lady that I like very much, who I have written about previously.  She has asked me to please not use her name, so I won’t.  If you knew her name, it means “a small freshwater duck”.  In this blog post, I will refer to her as Quack, though that is not her real name.

I am old enough to know now, that women will change their mind about anything in an instant.  They also say and claim, the exact opposite of what they think and feel.  “I hate you”, can turn into “I love you”.  “I don’t want to see you with your shirt off”, turns out to get hundreds of views from women overnight when you post your picture with your shirt off.  “I don’t like that, stop”, turns out to mean “Don’t Stop”.  You get the idea.

Now, knowing all this, leads me to imagine what it would be like if Quack and I became married.  This is not nearly as unlikely as some of you might think.  I choose to focus on our life together, twelve years from now, when Quack is 37 years old, and I am 60 years old.

I imagine that we are taking a family vacation together, driving to the Grand Canyon and Flagstaff, with our 11 year old daughter, and our 7 year old son.  On all of our long drives together, Quack has always sat in the passenger seat looking out the window, with her mind far away.

Quack always wonders to herself how her life turned out this way.  She feels cheated.  How and why did she ever marry a man so much older than her?  Why is she with him?  Why is she tied down?  How did all of this happen?

Every passing desert bush, Quack wishes that she could go and hide behind the bush, stay there, and not come out, until we couldn’t find her and went away.  Every passing vehicle, Quack wishes that she could go with them, anywhere, away from here and us.

Her thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a piercing shriek, “Iieeeeeeeeee… he’s touching me!”  Quack quickly turns around in her seat to see our seven year old son sitting quietly like a toad, holding onto a large tupper ware bowl in his lap, in case he has to throw up.  Our daughter who is sitting behind Quack, is who Quack focuses in on now, this is her nemesis you would sometimes think.

Quack’s daughter is exactly like her, she is tall for her age and thin.  She is hardly any trouble at all, but Quack is always very cold with her.  You could think that Quack is just trying not to spoil her, to make her turn out not to be a bitch, but I sometimes think that Quack is just taking her anger out on her, that is all it is.

Our son is small for his age and immature.  I would not say that Quack adores him, I would say that Quack feels sorry for him, like she would for a turtle or a toad.  She spends quite a lot of time worrying about him in any case, whatever the reason.  Perhaps it is maternal instincts, I don’t know.

Quack has had just about enough of this driving trip, and she begins to think about tricking all of us three to stay in the car, while she launches the car into the Grand Canyon, or over the dam.  The more good places that we pass for her to do this, the more she thinks about it.

It is hot, and the children have been talking about going to a hotel with a swimming pool for hours.  I have been explaining for hours that we are going to stay in an old mom & pop motel on old Route 66, that they might not have a pool.  Quack somewhat agrees with this, staying in an old mom & pop motel on old Route 66, but thinks that I am doing this because I am cheap, which is the truth.

When we do finally get to an old mom & pop motel, with a pool, the children squeal with delight, that they are going to get their bathing suits on right away to go swimming.  I know exactly what is going to happen, and Quack knows exactly what is going to happen, that pool water is cold, about 60 degrees Fahrenheit, there is no way that those kids are going to get in that water.  Quack looks at this as the opportunity to finally get her revenge.

As soon as we check into the motel room, to the children’s surprise, Quack is changing into her bathing suit too.  This makes the children slightly suspicious.  I admire Quack in her two piece bakini bathing suit, she has not lost her figure at all.  Quack takes her two little ducklings with her to the pool, noting with satisfaction that there is a chain link fence around it, with only one gate.

Quack gently and unflinchingly descends down the steps into the pool, calling to her two children.  With just their bathing suits on, and it being late in the day now, our two kids are not hot anymore, and their enthusiasm for going into the swimming pool is now gone.  They don’t want to go in now.  Quack reminds them of how they have been talking about going swimming for the last several hours.

As soon as the two children take the first step down into the pool water, they have a look of horror on their faces at how cold the water is.  Quack has taken hold of each of them by the arm, with her cold, wet, bony fingers, and they know that they can not get away from her.  They plead with Quack and beg for mercy, “No, please, I don’t want to go in, I don’t want to go in…”, but soon their mouths, eyes, and nostrils are filled with pool water and they are choking and gasping.

After about four minutes of frightening her children, who are not sure if their mother is trying to kill them, it is time for dinner.  After Quack and the children change out of their bathing suits and get dressed, we walk across the street to a diner.  I and the children order cheeseburgers and fries, Quack has to pick something else to order.

Quack’s second most favorite thing it would sometimes seem, is embarrassing the children in public, and at restaurants.  She often deliberately orders something that the children will think is gross, and she orders alcohol, which worries me too.  We all know that we are going to become victims of hers here shortly.

When Quack gets her beer, she begins eye balling each of us, and we aren’t sure which one of us she is going to start with first.  “How old are you now?  What, are you in the second grade or something?  Don’t you think that you should start doing your own laundry now?  Here let me put some mayonaise on your french fries for you, that is what they do in France, what you don’t want any, what are you a Republican like your father or something?”

After dinner, we are all tired and ready for bed.  I go lay down on one of the double size beds, and Quack goes and lays down on the other double size bed.  The two children climb into bed with Quack, and cling to her sides like baby opossums riding on their mother’s back.

I think that this is a very happy marriage.

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “What It Would Be Like To Be Married To A Small Freshwater Duck

  1. Uh the first part of this, where you say women change their mind about things and the wording you use makes you sound like a potential rapist who thinks no means yes. You’re sick. Also, she asked you not to use her name, maybe should have taken that as the hint to not right about her at all… clearly she isn’t interested and doesn’t want you to write about her.

    Like

    1. Josh,

      Josh, if you go through life not knowing what is going on around you, it is not going to affect me. You can either learn, or not learn. There have been a couple of women, and you, that clucked and squawked like a bunch of spooked chickens over what I have written. Protectors of the sanctity of women.

      In my life, I have gotten more complaints from women for not being abusive, than for anything that I have done. That’s right, you read that correctly, I have gotten more complaints from women for not being abusive.

      When I was in my early 20s, I had a girlfriend that was 10 years older than me. She was disappointed in me because I wasn’t more abusive and rough with her, and when she said “stop”, I stopped. She explained to me that when women say “stop”, they don’t want you to stop.

      When I got older, women would say to me, you can’t be nice to women, they don’t like that, you have be mean to them and treat them like shit.

      Josh, you are never going to understand this, unless you start reading books or something. I am not making this up. Go ask some women, not your mother.

      Go watch the John Wayne movie “McClintock”, “Gone With The Wind”, “Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down”, and some Clint Eastwood movies.

      Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s