Putting My Feet in the Dirt 8

“How are you this evening?” She asked without looking.

“Same old, same old” Joe replied, tiredly. Why does she ask this every night?

Sandra thought, why does he always answer the same way? Maybe he’s just tired. Well I’m tired, too. “Did you get that special client to sign?”

Joe murmured “No, but I’ll see him again next week.” He turned into the bedroom and flopped on the bed, took off his shoes and laid back. There’s no chance I’m getting that client, no chance in hell. I am so tired of this job, my life, I don’t even care anymore. Joe sat up and loosened his tie, undressed from his suit into a sweater and jeans.

She was setting the table as she did every night at this time. “Dinners ready, coming?” Sandra placed the modest meal on the table. Maybe she should get a job too, help out a bit. But there were children to consider. They should have waited to have kids, they weren’t prepared. She sat at her end of the dining table.

Joe sank into his chair at the other end of the table. “So the kids ate early again? I hardly ever see them at dinner.” He missed the children and the fun times they used to have, discussing their day around the evening meal.

“It’s been a long day, they were squabbling, so I put them to bed early.” Sandra had come to her wit’s end by the time five o’clock came around, and Joe never came home before seven, so she fed them early. She thought it would be nice to have a quiet dinner with Joe, but he seemed too tired to care.

Joe and Sandra ate their meal in relative silence, each wanting to speak honestly, but instead, their conversation was saturated pleasantries.


May Writing Prompts


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