Coffee

Every morning I collect the empty bottles first, careful not to let them clink, careful not to wake him. I’d left a pitcher of coffee by the front door. I gather half-empty cups around it, tiptoe in the kitchen, and pour coffee over the glasses in the dishwasher before setting the cups inside. Black blood splashes over dirty plates in the bottom rack and my heart races. It looks like a crime scene. It’s my favorite part of the night. Then I close the door, it latches – and the chaos is erased.

If he ever found out, he’d kill me.

Light Switch

Blank stares.

“So when it’s up, it’s ON?”

“Mom, Dad, it couldn’t be simpler. It says, ON.” He flicked the brand new switch on the wall and the lights snapped on. “Up is ON. Flip this down and the lights turn off.”

 “How can we tell if the switch is up or down in the dark?” Dad scoffed.

“I’ll write the steps and tape them up,” mom said helpfully.

“Dad, its two settings. ON or OFF. It’s a switch.”

“I might be too complicated for your father, hon. Maybe it’s just for young people,” she said and lit a candle.

Masochistic Christmas

The elf is watching, and if you don’t behave, there will be no Christmas. Santa sees all, and if you’re naughty, you get nothing for Christmas.

In most animated movies, there are lots of bad guys who want to cancel Christmas. In a lot of grown-up movies, there are lots of bad guys who want to cancel Christmas.

On certain news channels, there’s a war on saying the words Merry Christmas out loud.

Boy, a lot of people can’t enjoy Christmas without pretending it’s doomed. To them I say, enjoy your masochistic Christmas.

To you I say, avoid them.