(About a 2 minute read)
My second wife was brilliant, the daughter of an award-winning quality control engineer, and she had most — or more than most — of his genius in her own brains.
Her executive father played a key role in his company’s race be the first manufacturer in the world to reach the fabled Sigma 6 level of quality control.
One million units created. Less than four defectives.
Second wife relieved boredom by solving calculus problems in her head. I’m a sapio-sexual. I couldn’t help but get hard about that. I was a hard man back then.
Second wife made me a hard man back then.
This fool knew she was malicious and abusive when he married her. Told himself he could change her.
No need to feel sorry for me. Over enough time, even some fools trade in their tears for laughter and lessons learned.
Once, ex-second wife threatened to cheat in order to get her way with something.
Foolish Fool in his fool’s wisdom decided to beg her not to. Started writing a poem at work.
The poem wouldn’t come. It had to be dragged out of me, so I took a break. Got a cup of water. Came back, spilled a few drops on the paper.
She was home that night. Stuck the poem inside her purse, inside her schedule book, so she’d be at work the next day when she found it. Didn’t want to risk her glaring at me when she read the poem. In case she didn’t like it, you see. I never could predict what would explode her dynamite.
The next day, I come home, she’s there, she’s crying.
She launches herself at my chest, begins soaking my shoulder. “Don’t you dare make fun of me! You were crying too yesterday when you wrote it! I saw the stains! I felt your tears!”
As soon as she could the next day, she ditched the meddler.
But I still haven’t figured out the lesson. Three choices, you see.
“Sometimes even fake tears lead to great make-up sex?”
“Two people can both trip over a single tear?”
Or is it,
“A tear at the wrong time creates nine more down the road?”