Don't Forget the Pepper Spray (Second Edition). Kristen Marie

I tagged along.

      His brother’s family had just finished their dinner. His sister-in-law asked if Judas wanted any of the left-overs, not me, just him. Keep in mind, we had just eaten, but the world-class athlete was all too eager to chow down a plate of Hamburger Helper.

      He looked at me and ordered, “Go get me a plate of Hamburger Helper.” No please, no would you like some yourself. Just a commandment.

      I had had just about enough, so I looked right back at him and replied, “Your legs aren’t broken, go get it yourself.”

      I swear I saw smoke pouring from his ears. How dare a “woman” talk to him, the great (Joe-des) like that?

      We then went downstairs to play pool. As I reached for a pool stick, he grabbed it from me and said, “No, women don’t play; their job is to cheer on their man from the sidelines.”

      Are you kidding me? Honestly. What era was this? Certainly not the end of the 20^th Century.

      I walked upstairs and watched cartoons with his nieces and nephews until he was ready to leave.

      Two hours later we walked out the door. His sister-in-law hugged me and said she hoped to see me again. Judas rudely retorted, “Don’t worry, you won’t.”

      Fine by me I thought with a smile. Just get me home.

      We didn’t speak a single word the entire drive back.

      He descended the driveway and when the car came to a stop, he leaned in for a goodnight kiss. No joke.

      But I was ready, hands on the handle ready to spring. Which is exactly what I did, shouting “See ya!” as I ran to the house for refuge.

      As I shut the door, I heard him peel out of the driveway. And that was the last time I saw Judas (Joe-des), whom I affectionately refer to now as Jud-ASS!