Evil. Pure Evil.

I've been married for nearly 24 years. We dated for four years before that.

28 years. Twenty. Eight. Years.

That much time in a relationship does something to a person. Sometimes, it does good things to a person. Like polishing a rock over time making it smoother, more refined and even shinier on occasion. Being with the same person for 28 years forces you to work together, cooperate, compromise, negotiate.

But sometimes...sometimes...yes, sometimes it just makes you pure evil. Drives you mad and takes you to the brink of sanity. You want to kill that person. But you know you can't. So the evil takes other forms. Less deadly ones. Ones that don't put you in prison but still reflect how homicidal you have gotten.

Yesterday was one of those days for me. My husband was being a jerk. Just a jerk. We were talking about something innocuous, but I was annoyed with someone who had repeatedly dropped the ball for the last week-and-a-half on a simple task. I was more than annoyed. I. was. PISSED. Venting about it with Greg (not AT him) and he wasn't being empathetic or understanding of my feelings at all. Quite the opposite in my opinion and it was hurting my feelings and making me madder.

Add to the mix our two-year-old German Shepherd dog continually sniffing my butt as we were "discussing" the matter and I was about to go nuclear. She requires a lot of  patience.

I wasn't patient.

While I wasn't yelling at my husband, I was having unkind thoughts about him as we talked, and trying my best to prevent my brain from exploding all over the living room walls.

At one point, my husband, turns his attention to his computer to look something up and I see our dog out of the corner of my eye and turn my attention to her to see what she was up to since she had finally stopped sniffing my butt. She had discovered the Pop Tart. My husband had left a blueberry Pop Tart beside him on the couch where he had been working and the dog had just found it. It had the white frosting with sprinkles of little, blue sugary sugar crystals.

I don't know why I didn't jump into action. A dog. A Pop Tart. It was inevitable. She sniffed and then sniffed some more and then...LIIIIICK! A big wet one all across the frosted top of that Pop Tart.

I chuckled inside but didn't have time to do anything about it as my husband turned away from the computer and back to facing me. He then promptly picked up that Pop Tart and started eating it.

I just stood there and watched. Never said a word. The expression on my face didn't change a bit. Just stood there and watched it happen. No intervention whatsoever.

I DIDN'T STOP MY HUSBAND FROM EATING THE DOG-LICKED POP TART.

And I enjoyed every. single. second.

EVIL!! Just pure evil.

The satisfaction I got from that moment was scary. Wicked. I feel it even now as I write this. Just absolute contentment that he got what he deserved. Be a jerk to your wife, you get screwed with the dog-saliva pseudo-pastry. That's how it works. That's the risk you take in life.

So THERE.