Never Date a Woman who Don’t Respect your Wife by Terveen Gill

He was sitting on his porch, drunk, ranting.

It was three in the afternoon, four empty bottles sat beside him, the fifth in his hand, three sips down.

His speech was slurring, his eyes were shifting, it was time to impart some wisdom to the sidewalk, scare the children on their way home from school.

‘Ice cold beer! That’s the way I like it!’

He kissed the bottle and rolled it against his forehead.

‘Never drink your beer warm. Do you hear me?!’

Two girls, pale and freckled, jumped at the man’s words, they lurched to the right and skittled away. Their red backpacks gave the man more reason to yell.

‘Red is the color of the devil. Oh Devil! I see ya! You can’t fool me!’

He pressed his lips to the mouth of the bottle, chugging down what was left, then he opened a sixth. It was time to be more responsible, and he pointed at the mailbox.

‘My cheque’s in the mail. Yes, it is! You got two days to spit it up!’

Then he shook his fist in the air and almost fell off the stoop.

‘Whoa now! Easy! I don’t want any trouble.’

The bottle was getting heavier in his hand, but he couldn’t remember where his mouth was, so he sat and thought about it.

He’d figure it out. He always did.

His wife had found out about his girlfriend. The woman had gone ballistic. She had left the house with a baseball bat and a promise to teach ‘that bitch’ a lesson.

The man looked at his watch. It had been either two hours or two days since he’d seen her whichever was shorter.

He dipped his head forward and when he looked up, two fat legs stood before him. His wife spoke from above.

‘That rude thing! Tried to be sassy with me. I gave it to her good.’

The bat hung from her chubby hands.

‘What you gotta say for yourself?! Now don’t be stupid.’

The man set down his bottle, but it toppled over, beer trickled down the sidewalk. He put his hand on his stomach thinking it was his heart and said what his brain suggested.

‘Never date a woman who don’t respect your wife! Got that?!’

The woman swung twice. The bottles survived, but most certainly not the man’s legs.