L'esprit de l'escalier

It's all about the timing.

Location: Memphis, Tennessee, United States

I'd rather be somewhere else most of the time and I'm a huge practitioner of staircase wit.


Living with a recovering addict

I came home last night, his first completely smoke free day, supposedly, glanced over to the end table and spied a cigarette butt in the ashtray.

"What's this cigarette doing here?"
He yells from the kitchen, over the dishwasher, "I smoked one today."


"Do you still have a pack?"
"Where is it?"
"On the bookshelf, behind the bubbles."
He didn't even try to lie, because that's not his style. But maybe he should have.

I held them under the faucet and threw them away. I asked him first, if he really wanted my help with this. He seems to, by the way he's not hiding anything. Like he knows he'll sneak if they're here, but he won't if I don't let him. He said yes, he wants my help.


This morning I took his debit card out of his wallet and hid the change jar before I left for work. Now, I'll have to do some investigating when I get home. He looked so sweet this morning, sleeping with that patch on his shoulder. People look so sweet while they sleep. Why is that? It's enough to break a girl's heart, sometimes. The pressure of the feeling.


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