I was almost asleep when
my ex-wife muted the tv
and announced, Tomorrow will mark
one year since my friend Ellen
and her husband had sex last.
That’s good, honey, I told her,
rolled over toward the wall.
that asshole just won't have sex
with her. And you know what else?
I pulled my knees up to my chest,
told her no. She found his porno
stash the other day. That’s not good,
I answered, my eyes squeezed shut.
You know what makes it even worse?
No clue, I said, rolled over on my back
again, stared up at the ceiling.
She found this thing called The Bullet.
Ever heard of one? No, I answered,
drumming my fingers on the blanket
over my chest. You stick it up your ass
and make it vibrate by remote control.
Jesus, I said, do you have to bring up shit
like this when I’m trying to sleep?
I just thought it was interesting.
You never want to talk about anything.
I think I might bake them a cake.
What kind do you think would be best?
When I didn’t answer, she put the volume
back on the tv, flipped through the channels
until she found Letterman. After a minute
or two, I sat up, propped my pillow against
the headboard, sighed, and told her that
she couldn’t go wrong with Angel Food.