Tonight my spouse announced his desire to earn a living by playing poker.
He really is a pretty good poker player. He's no Daniel Negreneau, certainly, but he regularly brings home cash when he goes to the casino.
He's been a part-time professor for 24 years, and he's tired of it. Tired of the politics and the low pay and the lack advancement. Just like me, I would say if I weren't entirely too aware of the irony of expressing dissatisfaction with his ability to make a living while hesitating to actually divorce him.
Today, for whatever reason, he was all fired up by the possibility of abandoning teaching to play poker. And he talked at me about it for a good while, even after promising he would stop talking about it.
Of course, I let him keep talking because I'm scared to death of making him angry.
Here's the thing. The unspoken assumption in his long, long monologue about spending his days playing Texas Hold 'Em was that somebody would still be there to pay his bills. His rent/mortgage, his utilities, his taxes.
Because somebody has utterly failed to possess enough backbone to sever him from her life.
He's so happy to make plans and dreams if he believes I will be his safety net.
And I just nod my head as he speaks.
Because I remember the last time I made him angry.
So I maintain my poker face.
And wonder when I will finally win a hand.