I spilled a few crumbs
on the table to see what you'd do. You swept them away
absently and continued about the business
of force-feeding me your day
. It didn't occur to you that I'd have something
aside from a sexual orifice
and a cooking resume
. Sex and the menu
, and not always exclusive
of each other, is all that you wanted of me.
It registered that you were expecting an answer from me. You seemed to be satisfied with an empathetic look and a “How dare they!” In truth, I didn’t give a flying fuck about whoever it was that you claimed was victimizing you in some way or another. Why should I? Caring about each other’s day is a mutual thing, you know. That is why I had no clue what you were talking about. I didn’t care because I couldn’t; why do so if the one you care about doesn’t reciprocate?
I shut you out, right about then, and started spelunking about the workings of my mind. I then realized that if you couldn’t find the time to listen to me, I mean really listen, I couldn’t very well extend the same courtesy. Click. The door to you in my mind shut at the same time as the door to my home. Goodbye, dear. Perhaps the next woman you meet will be satisfied with sex and the menu. Perhaps she won’t have any crumbs to spill and get in your way.