Tuesday, July 5, 2005

You Love Vodka (p. 10)

You Love Vodka
William Ostilly

You love vodka. There’s no sense in denying it. You just told me not two weeks ago when we were on our honeymoon, and I have a pretty good memory of that.

No, we weren’t drunk. I remember because we were staying in that awful hotel—the first one we stayed at—you know, the one with the really sad looking fake palm trees. Yes, one did fall over in the pool. Now you’re starting to remember. Anyway you were up in our room reading and I had gone down to get some ice (and maybe a soda?). I came back in the room and you looked me up and down with what appeared to be a look of disgust. I think you didn’t like my shirt. Do you remember the shirt? The orange and green one that you said was “so stupid looking it almost made me unlovable?” Yes, it was a button up, and the buttons were square. Well, it doesn’t matter what shoes I was wearing. I was on vacation, and I think I’m allowed to wear blue shoes if I want to. Why do you always do this, anyway? You just tear me down all the time when we’re trying to have an adult discussion. It’s like you don’t even care about my feelings. What’s the fucking big deal about, huh? You think that I’m going to change the way I dress just for you? Is that it? No, I’m not angry; I’m frustrated and upset. If you don’t want me to yell then you shouldn’t judge me. It isn’t like your fashion sense is so great either. I seem to recall a certain grayish-blue dress that makes me want to barf all over myself. You know, the one you wear all the time because you think it makes you look pretty. It just makes you look like a prissy whore. And you shouldn’t wear socks with dresses. What do you think of that? Now do you know how it feels? How does it feel to be insulted? Now maybe if I did it constantly you would understand.

Yeah, I felt like crying too, but that’s not even the point. That’s not even what we were discussing. Why do you always have to go on about things so that we get off-topic? I was right in the middle of the story, too, so I know you weren’t listening.

Oh, you were, were you? What was I saying then? Where was I in the story? Can you tell me or do I have to repeat it all again?

Well, that does happen to be exactly where I stopped. You got lucky I guess. I came in the room and you gave me a look of disgust. I felt like giving you one too, because you were reading that one book, Crimes that Punish or something like that. Yeah, that one. The one that I told you time and again not to read because it makes me feel stupid. But you keep reading it because you don’t give a shit about how I feel.

Anyway, I felt like giving you a look but I didn’t because I love you and care about how you feel. Don’t interrupt me, please. I won’t ask again nicely. So I put the ice over on the little sink next to the closet and I came over to the bed. You pretended not to be interested in me because you were reading. I remember that. But whatever, I thought, she does that all the time.

I grabbed the book from you and closed it, so that we could talk or have sex.

What was that you mumbled? You know what I’m talking about. You mumbled just now. I heard you but I want you to repeat it. Oh. Well, isn’t that just a fine statement to make. How dare you, really. As a matter of fact I do talk to you, and I don’t just use you for sex. You’re just saying that to make me mad.

You know a lot of women would appreciate my healthy sex drive. Yes, they would. And you know, maybe if you were better in bed, we wouldn’t have to do it so often. Yeah, that’s right. Don’t get all offended like it isn’t true. Excuse me? I do too know how to please a woman; you’re just too uptight. No, I don’t just lie there. No other woman has ever had a problem with me, so it must be you. I could have any woman I wanted. You should feel honored. It isn’t like you have any prospects. I don’t care how many people you slept with. Are you trying to make me jealous? Is that the game we’re playing? Well, if your dad hadn’t given me all that money I wouldn’t have married you. How do you feel now? Is that something you wanted to hear? What? How can your dad force you to marry me? Now you’re just making things up. Well, no one likes you either, and we all talk about you behind your back. You don’t like to hear that, do you? Well, next time you shouldn’t make me mad.

And you changed the topic again. You always do this. Why can’t we have a normal conversation without you insulting me every two minutes? It’s like you’re trying to make this as difficult as possible. Anyway, we were sitting there and I had just taken your book so that you would actually look at me when we were talking. Then I asked you if you wanted to have sex, and of course you said no because you always do. Then I said that if we weren’t going to have sex I was going to get drunk and you got mad because you love telling me what to do. No, just hold on, you can speak later.

So we went down to the hotel bar, and it looked like it had been built in a closet at the last minute. We sat down at one of like three tables and the waitress with bad make-up asked us what we wanted. I said I wanted brandy and then you said that you wanted vodka. I asked you why you ordered vodka, because I had never heard you order it before, and as I’m sure you’ll remember, you said that in that degrading voice, “I love vodka.” Remember now?

No, no it was not gin. No it wasn’t. Yes, I do remember you asking the bad make-up girl what kind she was using. Tanqueray. That’s not vodka? Are you sure? You always do this; you make things up to make me feel dumb. Why would you have a bottle here? Don’t use that tone, and no you don’t “love gin.” Where is it? Fine. I’ll look in the freezer.
Well, so what if it is gin?

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