It can’t be just a mere coincidence anymore… after a year and a half of steady, unflinching observation, it has finally become an undeniable fact of life for me that every Sunday night, just like clockwork, she simply goes berserk.
 After another week of mercilessly trying my seemingly inexhaustible reserves of patience and tolerance, as soon as Sunday night rolled around again, she once again turns into that demonic, violent-tempered impossible hissing, spitting monster, taunting and tormenting and provoking me past the point of all reasonable ability to cope. And still somehow I cope…
  What the fuck? All I know is that Sunday night has become like fright night. And you can set your fucking watch to it…
  Tonight, Sunday night again,  I came home and found her in that terrible, insufferable state of cranky irritability and raging brutish, bullying unreasoned dissatisfaction again.
 Then it all started up. And I was obliged to sit and listen to hours of her most insane, ego-driven opinionated rants and egocentric, mean-spirited discourses until my frazzled nerves were at the snapping point.
 All this torment and drama coming of course on the heels of the unhappy news that she’d managed to break yet another valuable item of mine…. This time it was my beloved pair of expensive imported binoculars.
  No big surprise though, since a day doesn’t go by when Narcisa doesn’t somehow break, lose, sell, disable or destroy something of sentimental or real value…
 The worst part of it is that after wrecking the shit, she always expects to be forgiven without the slightest complaint or recrimination… Just like that! And if I should ever fucking DARE to voice the slightest complaint or lament for my loss, she immediately turns the tables right around on me, diving head-first into a murky swamp of rampant self pity and self justification …which then swiftly deteriorates into another violent spree of destruction – which if I don’t run fast and far from, I am more than likely to find myself collaborating with by just bashing her miserable tortured brains in.
  Tonight was no different.
  When I dared to complain about my loss and “criticize” her by trying to get her to at least look at and talk about her uncanny knack of systematically destroying everything I own, one cherished item at a time, it just sent her flying right into my face, eyes bulging, spittle spitting, fingers poking me in the chest. Fuck!
 ”Is all YOU fault, seu. Imbecile!” She screamed, “Is all because You so e’stupid and cheap, you buy only these cheap sheets that fall on the floor an’ then it broken. Fock! If these e’sheet binocular was good the fabrication, he no gonna just brokeen when it drop on floor. It was the accident, man!! An’ then you don’ wanna forgive it cuz you only got it so much the hate in you heart! You make more the importance to the material thing than the peoples! Hypocrite!! An’ then you e’say you care ’bout me?!? Ha ha! You the big liar! You don’ to care ’bout nobody, cigano. Because you selfish an’ e’stupid, got it? You SO e’stupid you don’ even know I make you the big FAVOR for break all these e’stupid thing, cuz is all bad e’sheet made inferior product, got it, e’stupid?”
 I got it.
 She’s completely irrational. Bent. Insane. Fuck!
 But what does that make ME for hanging with her?
 Hmmmm…
 I wonder what the fuck again, one more fucking time…
 Thank God tomorrow’s Monday.

Copyright Jonathan Shaw 2008.

NOTIFICAÇÃO: Os eventos relatados neste site são contos de ficção registrados na Biblioteca Nacional com todos os direitos autorais revertidos ao autor Jonathan Shaw. Os personagens mencionados são inteiramente fictícios. Certos eventos, personagens, lugares e relatos, foram baseados em fatos reais, porém qualquer semelhança a qualquer pessoa viva ou morta se trata de pura coincidência. As várias fotografias apresentadas se encontram com o rosto distorcido para preservar o anonimato das modelos que representam personagens fictícios.