Dinner Conversation About The Coming Apocalypse
"Honey, I'm home!"
he said as he walked into the house and sat his tools on the small hutch in the entryway. The smell of roasting meat filled
the house, and man was he hungry! Being that he was married, and had already announced his presence in the house - he actually froze, and paused -
almost in an indignant manner, waiting for reply. For recognition. Mercifully it came quickly.
"There's my big man!"
, the beautiful woman spoke through a geniune smile, as she walked through a doorway and toward him "How was your day
at work Honey? Did today go well?
The mans rugged face and dour expression eased a little at the sight of his woman. His mind latched onto that concept in a primal and protective - yet
wholly selfish way - HIS woman!
With the practiced and automatic motions that come from a true intimacy the man found himself hugging his wife
tightly, without thought or intent. It simply happened. The same way that it happened every day, six days per week, when he walked in the door from
"Today was an OK day Baby. Not the worst, and certainly not the best ever...
his words trailing off as he broke eye contact and began to
glance, almost inperceptibly towards the floor. The kind of slight change in glance that even a close friend would not notice. Something so subtle as
to be almost invisible... to everyone but a loving wife. She instantly and instinctively knew, today had
been one of the worst. A bad day in a
very long string of bad days. Her heart ached a little because she knew that this man, whom she loved so dearly, was pouring his very essence into his
work - a job that, like some abstract vampire, was sucking the life from his body and leaving him with so very
little to give to her. She was
jealous of his job. She hated it - though she'd never say so outloud. Not even to him. Not even to her husband. But, oh God, how she loathed that job.
Her disdain for his employment, employer, and situation never showed. She was, after all, a woman and was much more skilled at masking those subtle
nuances than any man would be. Women had to be better at this game of hidden communication - nature intended it to be so. After all, if one had to
rely upon a man to tell
you how he was feeling? Well nothing
get accomplished. A mans home may be his castle, but the
woman gives it stone. Thus, when he finally regained his slight lapse of composure, she was still there. Still loving staring directly at him... into
him... letting him know that it was all alright and that she would make it all better before he finally trailed off to sleep later that night. She
would quietly and thanklessly pick up the broken pieces of his soul and lovingly glue them back together - even if he never did have the first clue
that this is what she actually did for him each and every night of his life. That was her job. It was her responsiblity - to keep the castle fortified
so that the man she loved could feel like the king of something. She owed him that, she felt. He'd always been so kind and gentle to her.
If time would have stopped in that moment - a perfect forever could have been had. But dinner doesn't cook itself, and an unwashed husband, covered in
sweat and dirt doesn't eat at the table. So the things that must be done, needed doing.
Sweetie, I ran your bath already. Dinner will be ready in about 30 minutes. You go wind down and relax a bit. OK?
He required no further instruction or prodding. He tenderly and lightly kissed her lips, smiled, and began to walk towards the bath. She stayed in her
spot, waiting for him to turn the corner. Sometimes it was his custom to stop, mid step, and remember something he'd forgotten to gripe about and
would spin around furiously, expecting her to be there to listen. She truly hoped today was not one of those days. She was worried that her roast
needed basting and turning - and the pot filled with boiling potato needed to be stirred. She sighed an imperceptible sigh of relief as he turned the
corner, into the hall that led to the bath. No spontaneous "Oh, YEAH! And let me tell you about what....." today. Relieved, she turned and walked
towards the kitchen.
In the half an hour between their greeting and dinner, a strange thing happened. Well, not strange in the sense that it was uncommon, - because it
most certainly was not uncommon at all. It was strange in the sense that it was just one of those things that doesn't make sense. Over the course of
that half hour, as he soaked in the bath, his angst left him. His aches and pains and mental anguish all melted away. Meanwhile, in the kitchen,
somehow took up the mantle and got herself quite worked up over the stresses that the world was putting her beloved husband through.
They'd met at the door, her chipper, and he stressed-out. They sat to dinner with him relaxed as a drunken sloth on Sunday - and with her boiling as
hotly as the potato water had been just minutes before.
The uncomfortable silence lasted for about 1/1000th of a second. Such is the way of things between people who are truly bonded. What would take a
newlywed couple six hours to get to? An older couple, such as this, could arrive at instantly. No need for nervousness, apprehension, or pretentions.
Theirs was a pure sort of communication that many spend their entire lives never knowing, or understanding.
Her voice broke the silence.
"Honey is the food good?"
He smiled, and nodded, mouth filled with meat - still too stuck in his "maleness" to even see the tsunami that was about to hit him.
I'm glad you like it. Listen darling, we have to talk. This job.... I know it's a lucrative government job. I know it pays our bills and that we
are very fortunate to have all of the nice things that we have. But, seriously sweetie, is it worth it? I mean this damned job seems to be killing
you. It makes me so frustrated and angry that I could just scream!
The last sentence she uttered was somewhat redundant - as her screaming had begun a full eight words earlier.
From his male point of view, not only did he not even realize the world of hurt he was already in ( that thought would catch up to him about fifteen
seconds too late ) - but he had the unmitigated gall to think that he had this covered!
He really thought he had the one-stop, fix-all,
conversation ending reality. After all; it had worked before. More than once. So he went right to it:
Baby, you know that I am not allowed to discuss my job with you. It's classified! I took an oath and am contractually and legally obligated
to never talk about what I do!
As he finished speaking, he was actually foolhearty enough to lower his gaze, with a slight smirk on his lips, preparing to take another bite of the
meat that his utensil was currently plunging into. ( for those keeping score - THIS - is when the realization hit him and he suddenly understood the
world of hurt/tsunami/Hell yet to come ). Neither the smirk, nor the intention to take another bite, at that moment, lasted long.
edit on 12/5/12 by Hefficide because: (no reason given)