A Touch of Evil

My husband is an evil man.

Sure, he looks all serene in his counselorly Dockers and Clarks shoes, but trust me: the man lives for evilness.

Not a Hitler/Stalin/Dick Cheney evil, mind you. He embodies a subtler, far more insidious evil, an evil that can only come from living with me over the years. Sort of a grinchy evil–a spoiler. At least when it comes to me.

Need proof? I present the following:

Fun Food Hater: It’s not that he hates to eat, he just refuses to understand the unadulterated joy of finishing off an entire frozen carrot cake while watching an all-day marathon of Can’t Get a Date on VH1. During our marriage, he has actually said the following to me:

  • Pepperidge Farm cookies: “You know, I never thought they had a lot of taste.”
  • Ordering our first (and last) pizza: “Don’t you think delivery pizzas are a little greasy?”
  • Going out for breakfast: “In the end, it’s all just bacon, eggs and potatoes.”

I didn’t suspect an ulterior motive at the time he made these comments. But I haven’t eaten any of the above in over five years. Coincidence? I think not.

Doesn’t Believe Me: Or, more precisely, doesn’t believe me when I try to freak him out. He has become what sociologists call “unflappable”. Maybe it’s because throughout our relationship, I’ve made comments, observations that he uncharitably calls “threats”:

  • Insisting he visit a doctor: “I’m not planning to be a widow!”
  • On moving to an uninteresting part of the country: “I’m not dying in that state!”
  • Watching him comb his hair: “Honey, I love you even though you have male-pattern baldness.”

I was able to shake him up just a little during the first six months of being together, but now he doesn’t even flinch. It’s forced me to be a little more…creative in my observations, but no big successes as of yet.

As for state thing? He’s promised me he’ll drive me to the state line and push me out of the car right before I croak. What a guy….