Finally, someone who understands.
“She hates me. Damn bitch hates me.”
Todd wiped the counter and nodded. The guy was nursing his fourth scotch, and he’d been going on and on about his wife since Todd filled the first glass.
“I mean, I work my ass off, y’know? When I come home, do I get poured a drink, or get a chance to rest, watch the game? Hell no. Kids to help with homework, dinner to help put out or clean up, neighbors coming over … she’s at me, all the time. Damn bitch just hates me, understand?”
Todd did understand. Just not the way the guy meant.