BOYFRIEND FOR SALE
FOR SALE: Thirty-nine year old deranged
homo sapien with animalistic tendencies.
Likes to play cruel jokes on unsuspecting
women, thinking he's funny and expecting
them to think likewise. That's where he
screws up. He thinks. Will consider the barter system. In need of a new washer. The plunger in the bucket method is getting old. Will sell AS IS, NO RETURNS. Will deliver. Added bonus: A dog who likes to pee in bed. Will throw in an extra towel.
This is no joke. Every April Fool's Day, my boyfriend, who has the gift of having the most warped sense of humor, had always succeeded to pull off the practical joke of the century. This year was no exception.
I woke up this morning, forgetting what
day it was. I had two books to revise and
another one to finish, so joking around
was the last thing on my mind. Obviously,
there were other people in the household
that had not forgotten.
I was pounding away at the keyboard when my boyfriend of seven years walked in and told me that he was moving back home. As we had had a fight the night before (he had been planning this for a two days), he played his cards right and he knew I would fall for it, hook, line and sinker.
I knew why he was leaving. We have had a girl named Amanda, who I consider my 'adopted' daughter, stay with us for a while and although I knew it might cause a few problems, I never would have thought he would have gotten so upset over the situation enough to leave. "I can't take this," he told me. "I'm leaving today." After a few heated words, he left. I slammed the bedroom door in typical demonic fashion and locked it, throwing myself in bed and pulling the covers over my head.
He came back and started pounding on the door. I yelled, "Go away!" He continued to knock. Seeing that he was not going to go away, I got up and unlocked the door and jumped back in bed, throwing the covers back over my head.
"Max (the dog) has been run over by a car!" he blurted out.
I jumped out of bed and he yelled, "April Fool's!"
The worm. I just wanted to take his crusty little head and pound it against the floor.
Last year, he got me even one better.
I knew he had been having 'bowel' problems for a long time and finally went to the doctor about it. I paced the floor getting ready for work, waiting for the bad news.
I went to work, not able to shake this
bad feeling I was having. He came in
with his head down. "It's bad," he said,
not looking me in the eye. "I'll have to
wait until you get home to tell you."
I got off work early and hurried home. The radio blared, "Already There" by Lonestar, even making me more depressed. I got home and braced the kids for what was to come.
He pulled up and I raced out the door. He wouldn't even look me in the face. I knew it was bad.
He sat down on the couch and said, "It's not good. Don't tell Mom or anyone else. The doctor said I had cancer."
I looked at him with tears streaming down my face. I kicked my exercise bike sitting across from me. I felt my whole world crashing down on me.
He went on. "I've had it for a couple years now. Gangrene has set in and eaten the insides of my stomach. I've been 'pooping' green for a while now and didn't tell you."
I started crying uncontrollably.
"You know how my head has been hurting lately?"
"Yes," I whimpered.
"Fluid is leaking into my brain."
"My colon has to come out," he continued. "The doctor said I have only a certain amount of time to live."
He slowly pulled out a note from his pocket and said, "The doctor wrote down how long I have to live."
I looked at the note and gasped, "No!"
"I want you to read it first," he said in tears.
"I can't. I just can't," I sobbed.
My daughter, Melissa, told me she would read it because I couldn't, but he said, "No. Your mother needs to read it."
With tears streaming down my face and my fingers trembling, I unfolded the crumpled piece of paper. It read, "APRIL FOOLS!"
They say all's fair in love and war. When you read his obituary next week, I didn't do it.
