Under the spell of a pill that she pops into her vagoo, [Wife] has transformed into [Wifebear]. She watches my napping, criticizes my fatness, scolds me until I put my foot down, until I actually plant that foot onto the floor, and say to her "enough." At which point, puffed with hormones, she looks to cry, or perhaps more likely to seep tears, weeping sebum from swollen ducts. She insists that I talk about my feelings. You're not! Not talking! She says. Feelings, I think. This is like normal wives, TV wives. I want lite beer and peanut butter. I want to read about Vaudeville. I expected something else but we got this instead. They downgraded us to IUI after canceling the IVF--they've already got you, meaning her, hopped up on hormones, so they say well, let's not waste that. This run of chemicals is the consolation prize, a sign that we're still in the game. But I can't say I'm flushed with hope, and the cats are rubbed raw from cuddling.
| Food | Qty | Calories |
|---|---|---|
| Cereal, Flaxen, 3/4 c. | 1.3 | 147 |
| Cereal, fibrous, 2/3 cup | 1.5 | 120 |
| Milk, no fat, 1 c. | 90 | |
| Total | 357 |
Weight: 315.5 lbs