Anthony looked at the end of the bed. As he stared as his cold bare feet he knew that his live-in maid/ on and off girlfriend had somehow screwed with the blanket.

It isn’t easy being 6′ 10 and he usually can’t have a bed with a foot board at the end. Some hotels (especially Lisbon) he would find himself hanging off the bed.  But then again, this is his story…

…

“Honey, don’t you understand I don’t ask for much from you,” she started.

“Expected what which time dear,” I asked wishing that I could find the aspirin.  My head was hurting and I took one of those headache powders.  I could down these damn things like they were my ex to white powder.

“Tony, don’t you understand, all I need you to do is fold up your socks, kill the roaches and any bugs I see and clean the windows.  You know I NEVER do the windows.”

“I thought we had an agreement, I let you crash while you work things out with your ex-husband and in exchange, you keep the house clean,” I looked at her as I knew it was coming.

The red started at the top of her red hair and screamed throughout her 5’11” body.

“Well, I expect certain things,”

I just waited and kinda tuned out.  It was a character flaw I know, but I had little patience for yelling and screaming.  Wonder if she is finished yelling.

“I’ll tell you Anthony Darby Excelsior Andrews…”

Yup, there it was the whole name. Time to listen and rebut now.

“…I’m not just a little tart for you to have your way with,”

“Christine Elizabeth Stirling don’t you,”

(SLAP)

“How dare you use my full name! I expect many things and treating me with respect is one of them.  You will treat me…”

And the rant continued. I counted to five.  My cheek stung from the blast.

“What do you expect Chris? You expect me to sell my soul, my hopes and dreams so I can fit into your warped sense of responsibility? As for respect, living with me while you still are married. Yup that’s respect,” I said as I rubbed my cheek.

“Tony, you are such a lost cause.  I expect you to do the little things,” Christine continued to whine.

“What?  You are the LIVE IN MAID!  I have expectations, hopes and dreams, and they get crushed every day at the agency.  I don’t need this frustration,” I said as my anger increased.

“You are much too good for the agency.  You need to go out on your own, they will miss you when you are gone,” Christine said with naive sincerity.

“We’re all replaceable.  Your husband replaced you with the 22 year old skank from the secretary pool,” I waited for the inevitable.

(Slap)

3 2 1 …

The monsoon began, “why doesn’t he love me,” Christine cried?

“Because he doesn’t see what’s in your heart.”

“And what’s that?”

Expectations.  Hopes.  Dreams. Fears. Nightmares.

I just grunted and walked back to the bedroom. And pulled the cover over my head.

“It doesn’t matter. Just clean up the mess and come back to bed.”