The Silent Treatment

Rita’s cute and can be flirty and saucy, but is it really worth it to put up with this shit? I’m just about done with her.

“Come here, baby. I want to talk to you,” I said patting my knee.

Without a word or a glance back, she sulked into the kitchen.

“Is this how it’s gonna be tonight? Again?”

Against my better judgment I followed her, and sure enough Rita started bitching about there being nothing to eat.

“Why is it my job to cook all the meals? I don’t mean it’s only women’s work, but didn’t your mother teach you anything?”

That remark earned me a fiery glare, which wasn’t unexpected. She brushed past me and started upstairs. For a nap I imagine. And not the first one today.

The truth is I like going to the grocery store and I love to cook, but it’s been over a year since Rita moved in and it would be nice if she could help me out. Maybe do some work once in a while. It’s not like I’m even getting favors in return.

“Are you using the bathroom?” I yelled up.

No response.

“Alright. Two can play this game,” I muttered and shuffled back in the kitchen.

I’ve learned the best way to deal with Rita’s mood swings is to ignore them. That drives her batshit crazy. But the truth is it makes me crazy too. I popped the top on a can of PBR and sat down at the table to cool off.

“What am I getting out of this relationship? Why am I doing this?” I said just loud enough for her to hear.

“I’m not bragging but I could’ve had anyone I wanted. There could be some other little cutie warming my bed, you know. Maybe you could show a little gratitude. Or do you want to wind up back on the street?”

I heard the familiar light clicking of feet coming down the creaky wooden stairs and felt her presence behind me, but I didn’t turn around.

Completely ignoring my comment, she asked again when dinner would be ready.

“Give me a break, will you? I know you don’t listen, but do you even hear me talking?”

Hopping up on the counter, Rita went into full flirt mode, licking her lips and giving me those big, soft, blue eyes. This is standard operating procedure for her and usually I cave, but I decided this time would be different. No more Mr. Nice Guy.

“Get it yourself,” I said with a crooked grin and as much conviction as I could muster.

She continued the routine.

“Look, Rita. I love you. You know that. But I need a little love back.”

She gracefully slid off the counter and parked herself on the corner of the table so she could look straight at me. I felt my resolve melting like ice cream on a hot summer day.

“Okay. Fine. But we’re going to talk about this over dinner. I mean it.”

She indulged in a long yawn and batted her eyes, knowing I’d give in sooner or later. Also, that she wouldn’t have to wait long. Giving her a roll of the eyes, I opened a can of Fancy Feast. She started purring, jumped down, and sashayed to the bowl.

“I hope you’re happy.”