The Taming of the Shrew

Seems Joe has gone and gotten himself into a nasty little tangle with his shrew wife and she is making his life ever the more miserable and becoming more and more aggressive. It’s almost like she wants him to think she wants to get rid of him but doesn’t really want to. She is just acting out because she lacks the ability to actually conduct herself within the confines of conventional adult marital decorum.

Merry Christmas, here is my latest threat to divorce you all wrapped up in a bow.

So just before Christmas he texts me at work. Which almost never happens.

“Call me.”

OK I know that this is not going to be nothing. It is not going to be “What size does Hil wear?” or “Does Pat already have this video game?” Someone is dead. Or nearly dead. Or threatening to be dead. Or something equally as interesting.

So I call. He answers sounding fine. I check Someone is Dead off my mental check list.

I say “What is going on?”

He says, “Not much. How ‘bout you?”

It's Who’s On First only considerably more aggravating. I am actually working on something of some import and do not have time to engage in what is sure to be a completely inane conversation.

“Joe, you asked me to call you.”

“Oh, well my holidays just got that much more interesting.” And with those words proceeds to meander aimlessly through his story of how his shrew wife has made her most recent attempt to ruin his life to the extent that it doesn’t inadvertently ruin hers.

I tell him matter of factly to defend himself, but suggest also that he go on the offensive. Bank on her not being prepared for that. I ask a few questions, make a few suggestions. And I am concerned that he seems to want to talk while I’m talking.

“Joe,” I interrupt. “Are you writing any of this down? You are going to have to hire a lawyer and it will be easier and cheaper if you walk in with documentation.”

“Oh!” he says proudly. “Mom’s writing down all this documentation for me.”

“Mom? She’s 9 hours away. What good is her documentation? Write down everything we just talked about. Get off the phone with me and write it down. I have to go, good luck.”

I text Charlotte. I am sure she’s not been apprised.

And then I text Joe. I text a list of everything he needs to document and remind him to write down specific examples. I don’t have the slightest inclination to be sucked into his trouble – he just has to go through it and get to the other side.

But the Charlotte in me is worried that he will hang himself with his own stupidity. And there is a part of me that won’t be able to just let that happen if I can help it.