Dog Training The American Male (9 page)

 “I thought we were sharing a
bathroom?”

 “We are. But we’ll stock the
powder room with the dingle-berry-free toilet paper.”

 And it was on to aisle five.

Forty minutes and a second
shopping cart later, Jacob stood at the checkout counter, sweat beads forming
on his forehead.
Stay calm . . .it’s not going to be like
this every week. Most of these things are one-time expenses. A kitchen trashcan
– we needed that. Oven mitts and ice trays . . .sure. Aluminum
foil? Who uses a hundred and seventy five feet of aluminum foil? You could wrap
the space shuttle in that much foil and save on the heat tiles. Freezer bags
and trash bags . . .they’ll last a while. Shampoo and conditioner?
Okay, but why does she need the expensive stuff? I could use bar soap and be
happy.

 Nancy’s eyes watched the clerk
as he loaded the three six packs of beer and four two-liter bottles of soda
into the cart.
So much sugar . . . all those empty calories.
And why must he drink so much beer? If I can get him to switch to bottled water
and a cereal that doesn’t have a cartoon character on the box, he’d probably
lose twenty pounds.

The cashier pressed the total.
“Three hundred and seventy-seven, ninety-six. Any cash back?”

Nancy turned to Jacob. “Baby, did
you want cash back?”

Jacob looked at Nancy. “Sweetie,
why don’t you pay for this and I’ll cover the towels and curtains with my gift
certificate at
Bed, Bath, and Beyond.
”

“I already have towels.”

“What about curtains?”

“Fine.” Nancy fished her debit
card out of her purse, her eyes furious.

“Are you mad?”

“Of course not. Why would I be
mad? I just thought the BB&B certificate was a housewarming gift.”

“It was. From my brother.”

“Really?” She swiped her debit card,
nearly generating sparks. “Because Helen told me it was a gift for the two of
us.”

 The female cashier raised her
eyebrows.

Jacob twitched a smile. “Well, of
course it is. You just save that receipt for your ledger, and I’ll handle the
next big ticket item . . .okay?”

“Okay. Where are you going?”

“Need air. Meet you outside.”

Nancy smiled at the cashier. “We
just moved in together.”

“Honey, you don’t have to
explain. Before we got married, my husband did all his grocery shopping at the
7-Eleven.”

LIVING
TOGETHER

PHASE TWO: ROUTINE

Nancy entered her
home, carrying two plastic
Target
shopping bags. She kicked off her
shoes and left her car keys on the book shelf by the hall mirror. Oozing pride,
she walked down the hallway past the powder room now decorated in violet hand
towels, a turquoise rug, and a gold-plated towel rack with a matching soap
dispenser. Entering the kitchen, she gazed lovingly at the new oval glass table
and four black leather chairs, then entered the den to admire her new black
leather sofa and beige La-Z-boy chair, the copper and black area rug beneath
the granite coffee table matching the two throw pillows, the smart-looking saber-gray
Venetian blinds complimenting the room.

Amazing what you could buy on
interest-only payments for three years with twenty percent down. Of course, the
two fake palm trees had come a week later – they simply made the room.

She set the two bags on the glass
table. From one, she removed a large box containing a wall clock, the face
featuring an adorable white foofie dog. She popped in a double-A battery and
set the time, then fished through a kitchen drawer until she located a
screwdriver and screw.

She had mounted the clock and was
changing out of her work clothes in the master bedroom when she heard the
Volkswagen’s muffler backfire in the driveway.

Jacob entered his home, carrying
the newspaper, which he deposited on the book shelf by the hall mirror. His
bladder full, he hustled down the hallway and entered the powder room. Let
loose a stream of urine that splattered the rim of the bowl. Shook himself
twice (more than twice and you’re playing with it), flushed, then rinsed off
his hands, drying them with one of the violet hand towels, which he left in a
ball on the sink.

 Entering the kitchen, he saw the
two
Target
bags on the new oval glass table and rolled his eyes. He entered
the den looking for Nancy, finding only the new black leather sofa and La-Z-boy
chair, the area rug and granite coffee table and the saber-gray Venetian
blinds.

What good were interest-only
payments for three years if he had to put twenty percent down? Even upping his
hours at work to forty a week only covered thirty percent of that nut. And did
she really need the two fake trees?

Seeking solace, he popped a John
Lennon CD into the CD player and headed for the fridge to grab a beer.

Nancy entered from the bedroom
hall. “Hey you. How was work?”

“Work sucked. I hate stupid
people. The worst problem with being stupid is that stupid is forever. Next
week they’ll call me back to walk them through the same problem. How was your radio
show?”

“Good,” she lied. “I’m getting
edgier. I think I need that, don’t you?”

“Edgy’s good. What’s for dinner?”

“Burgers. Can you fire up the
grill?”

“If I fire up the grill, then I’m
the one cooking dinner.”

“No you’re not. You’re turning on
the gas, plopping three patties on the grill, and checking on them ten minutes
later. I’m making fries and a salad. Jacob . . .your sandals.
You’re tracking dirt all over my clean floor!”

“Sorry.”

 “Can you take them off?”

“Then I have to put them on again
to start the grill.”

“So?”

“So then I have to take them off
again to come inside. Then on again to flip the burgers. Then off again to come
back inside. Then on again to get the burgers. That’s a lot of work. All you’re
doing is popping the frozen fries in the oven and dumping some lettuce in a
bowl.”

“Fine. Take off those smelly
shoes and bang the dirt off the tread and I’ll cook the burgers and do the
fries and salad, but you’re cleaning up dinner. And that includes the grill.”

“I can’t clean up dinner; I have
to practice my act.”

Nancy gritted her teeth. “Can’t
you practice your act while you cook the burgers?”

“How do I do that? Pretend the
bun is the dummy’s mouth?”

“Fine. I’ll do dinner and clean
up; you go practice your act.”

“Thanks, Nance. Oh, remember, I
like mine well-done.” Jacob headed off to the garage to get the George Bush
dummy.

“Take off your shoes!”

LIVING
TOGETHER

PHASE THREE:
WHEN DOES THAT
LEASE EXPIRE?

Nancy had
intended to celebrate her first month living with Jacob by serving her
boyfriend breakfast in bed. That plan had gone awry when she woke up Sunday
morning with menstrual cramps. Seated at the kitchen table, she downed her last
aspirin with her morning coffee. Still in pain, she opened her laptop to check
her e-mail.

Jacob staggered into the kitchen
in his boxer shorts and Miami Dolphins hooded sweatshirt at eleven o’clock. Heading
straight for the oven, he cranked the dial up to 425-degrees, then opened the
freezer door and removed a frozen pizza.

Nancy looked up from her laptop.
“Pizza for breakfast?”

Jacob placed the frozen pie on an
aluminum tray and shoved it inside the oven. “Call it an early lunch.” Opening
the refrigerator, he grabbed a beer.

 “Jacob, it’s eleven in the
morning.”

 “It’s Lite beer. Half the
calories.” Jacob shuffled to the chair opposite her to read the morning paper.

“I got an e-mail this morning
from my producer – the quarterly Arbitron ratings. I’m drowning, Jacob.”

 “You’ll figure it out.” He
glanced at the front page of the newspaper. “Did you see this? It says a
Deerfield Beach woman was raped and assaulted last night. The neighborhood’s not
far from here.”

“You know what I think? I think I
need to do something completely off-the-wall to generate ratings. Maybe I
should simulcast my broadcasts on the internet topless?”

“Maybe you should run on a
treadmill.”

Nancy looked up from her laptop.
“How will that improve my ratings?”

Jacob lowered the newspaper. “How
will what improve your ratings?”

 “Running on a treadmill.”

 “I meant, instead of jogging in
our neighborhood. Nance, this guy raped a woman not far from here. It’s not
safe.”

 “I’m fine. Although I wonder . . . if
I was assaulted I bet that would get listeners to tune me in.”

 “Come on in the bedroom and
let’s see if it works.”

 “Forget it, I just started my
period.”

 “Would that prevent a rape? Wouldn’t
that be cool if they invented a tampon with a spike in it? That would teach
these maniacs.”

 “Maybe I should do a week interviewing
rape victims? Or I could bring in a few martial arts guys as guests . . .teach
women how to defend themselves. What do you think?”

 Jacob expelled a
colon-reverberating belch. “Sorry.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“It’s all in the diaphragm. I
could teach you. Then you could teach your listeners.”

“I wish I could teach you to put the
damn toilet seat down after you pee. I almost broke my back last night.”

“Hey, I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. You’re
sorry when you track dirt in my clean house, you’re sorry when you destroy the
powder room hand towels, you’re sorry when you leave your clothes all over the
bathroom floor. And when are you going to settle up on this month’s rent? Or
pay for groceries again?”

“I told you, my extended hours
are two weeks behind.”

“It didn’t stop you from playing
poker Thursday night with your brother and his depraved doctor friends. How
much did you lose?”

 “I don’t know. Not that much.”

 “Was it more than you spend on
beer every week? Or should I say, more than I spend on your beer!”

“What about those two trees in
the den?”

“It’s interest only for three
years!”

Jacob was about to respond when
the oven timer went off. Using his sweatshirt as an oven mitt, he removed the
hot tray and slid it onto the counter. “Want some?”

“God, no. What I want is more
aspirin. There's another bottle in the den.”

Jacob left the kitchen and
searched the den -- his eyes momentarily locking on to the front cover of the
Good
Housekeeping
magazine lying on the coffee table, the photo featuring a
white foofie puppy curled up by a fireplace.

 He located the aspirin by the
television controller and returned to the kitchen – for the first time he noticed
the face of the wall clock featured a tail-wagging white Bichon.

 Nancy snatched the bottle of
aspirin out of his hand and staggered into the den. “The smell of that pizza’s
making me sick. I’m going to lie down . . . dammit!”

“What? What’s wrong now?”

 “The bottle’s empty! Think you
could run down to the store and get me some?”

“Sure. Only the NFL Pre-Game Show
is coming on in ten minutes; can it wait until halftime of the Dolphins –
Eagles game?”

She teared up, her emotions lost
in a tempest sea. “Do you ever think of anyone but yourself? Just once I’d love
to see you make the bed, or throw your dirty clothes in the hamper. Or fold a
load of laundry . . . or wash a dish!”

“Okay okay, I’ll get you some aspirin . . . geez.”

“Make it Advil. And a box of
tampons.”

“Aw, come on!”

“What’s the problem?”

“I’m a man. It’s embarrassing.”

 “Tampons, not maxi-pads. Get the
ones that say super-absorbent.”

“All right already . . .geez.”
Jacob grabbed his van keys from a hook and exited through the kitchen door
leading out into the garage.
Why do women wait until their period comes to
buy tampons? It’s like waiting until you have to take a shit to buy toilet
paper.