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Why I Love My Husband, And Why I Shouldn't Have Made Him Dead


Men mean so much to me. I had a daddy, a grandaddy, an uncle and a Catholic priest who never made me feel uncomfortable at all, no no. Never.


But the one man I put above all others is my husband who is now deceased. He meant the world to me, because he made my life so much better by pointing out to me how dumb I was.


I took his criticism and carefully plotted ways I could improve myself. Wear less revealing clothes? Yes, I started wearing full Hazmat suits when I went shopping for groceries. Stop talking when he was around? Of course. My words mattered not one bit.


It just kills me that the thing that ended up having me kill him was the thing he loved most: cheating on me. I realized I was only one woman and that he was entitled to have several. He would tell me how men have always claimed multiple wives, concubines, slaves, that sort of thing. And I should accept it and move on.


But seeing that he decided to cheat on me with a goat made me lose my mind. I understood I was no better than a goat. He used to tell me a dog was more useful and a better companion than I was. But oh, I lost it and killed him dead.

Now I'm sitting on death row. The goat is enjoying her life somewhere I imagine, or maybe she's waiting to be slaughtered. Guess we really aren't that much different, women and goats. We're both waiting for the slaughter.


Anyway, happy Male Privilege Day!