Indian Wife Watchers

He either couldn’t meet her eyes or didn’t want to. It stung Julie as harshly as any words could have. ‘Gary,’ she began, hoping she wouldn’t start crying again. ‘I’m so sorry. I never meant to… to do anything… to hurt you…’ her voice trailed off, her words sounding so trite, so cliché. ‘How long?’ he asked directly, looking up at her. There was no compassion in his eyes. They were cold. Julie blinked. The dead look in his eyes threw her off and she couldn’t grasp the meaning in his question. ‘How long were you and…’ He paused. Was he expecting Julie to give Greg’s name? ‘How long were you fucking him?’ Julie should have expected the question. It was probably one that every victim of infidelity asked. ‘Six months,’ she answered, her eyes cast down, her voice quiet, subdued. ‘Six months?’ he echoed in disbelief. Was it six months? Julie wasn’t sure. Maybe it was longer, maybe it was shorter. Did it matter? ‘Were there others?’ That question also should have been expected. But it hit. I knew that I shouldn't leave my sister's roomWhile dressed as I was, in this girlish costume.Yet Spot wouldn't shut up; I had to go get him.So quickly I crept out, both determined and grim.I picked up and held the cat tight in my armsHoping to somehow silence his alarms.That's when a new sight made me white as a sheet.I trembled with weakness; my heart skipped a beat.For there on the staircase, with eyes full of ireWas dad in a bathrobe -- and me in this attire.I spoke not a word; I hardly dared breathe.I knew I sensed his anger boil and seethe.He glared hard right at me, sighed once, and then said:"PUT DOWN THE CAT, BECKY, AND GET BACK TO BED!"*** "Rodger Roberto Ricardo Roy" -->Based on "Sahra Cynthia Sylvia Stout" by Shel SilversteinRodger Roberto Ricardo RoyWould not dress up as a boy!He'd brush his teeth and comb his hair,Scrub the dishes, sweep the stairs,In every way a wondrous joy,He just refused to dress like a boy.A pair of jeans? ... not a chance!He'd wear a skirt, but.
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