The Bartender Therapist: or, a harem forming about me

Another close friend is fighting nonsensically with her husband of two years.  By nonsensically, I mean the stuff He is doing and things He is saying to her just do not make sense.  He is supercilious to a fault – but that is another discussion entirely.  But it is this, the conviction that He is untouchable and propensity to give unsolicited, fallible advice from his post on the couch, can of malt liquor in hand, that is causing their tension.

And, you know, I really like him.  And then I am superbly annoyed by Him.  And then I am confused because I can’t tell which version of Him with whom I am interacting.  She told me the other day,

I never thought I would say, 

“I hate my life.”

But I do.

“That, my friend, is depression,” I wanted to tell her.  But couldn’t.  You see, she doesn’t believe in depression.  I’d just as soon not beat a dead horse.

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