In the past week, I've told Grayson I wanted a divorce three times.
Situation 1
We are driving to Atlanta last Friday night and he sneezes with the velocity and volume of the space shuttle taking off on its celebrated last voyage. I nearly run off the road and kill us all. "I WANT A DIVORCE."
Situation 2
I am piddling on my laptop on Wednesday night, fighting nausea to beat the band, and he is eating an apple in a chair near me. He is taking three chipmunk-style bites each time before he chews and swallows. Loudly, all of it. "I WANT A DIVORCE."
Situation 3
Yesterday at work, he e-mails me a picture with text that says, "I wanted to share my strawberry cake with you." The picture is a close-up of a big piece of my favorite cake with a fork in it. I e-mail him back, "I can't wait to eat it at home tonight." He tells me, "Sorry. My piece was on the bottom and I had to eat through yours to get to it."
"I WANT A DIVORCE."
My hormones are up and down. My stomach is up and down, as are its contents. Luckily we've been through this three times before and we know it will pass.
But let's just all pray for Grayson, bless his heart, that he will display better judgment for the next, oh, 11 weeks or so.
