Chapter Twenty-Eight Dottie
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dottie
To hell with trying harder.
He took my shoes.
Dickie called Dr. Carlyle’s office and found out I didn’t have an appointment. He screamed at me until I admitted I lied and visited Ruby instead.
He says I’m dishonest and untrustworthy and I spend too much time running around and not enough time at home, being a good wife.
Then he took my shoes and locked them in the nuclear fallout shelter underneath the garage.
And now I can’t leave the house because I have no damn shoes.
This is all because I didn’t iron the sheets.
I knew there’d be trouble if I didn’t iron the sheets, but I just .
. . I don’t know. It was like an act of rebellion.
Sometimes I just want to yell, “you’re not the boss of me,” like a child.
But in reality, Dickie is the boss of me, because that bastard is my husband.
I can’t believe this is happening.
When we got into bed last night, Dickie saw the wrinkles and he lost his mind.
He screamed and screamed. Then he threw all my shoes into a laundry basket, carried them down to the basement, and locked them in the fallout shelter with a padlock.
He even took my bedroom slippers. And now I can’t leave the house, unless I want to walk down the street barefoot.
Then he made me sit down with a pen and a notebook and take notes while he dictated more rules I need to follow. Another list. In addition to the expectation of a spotless house and a three-course meal when he walks in the door each night at 6 p.m. I also have to:
1. Prepare for his homecoming by making myself more attractive. He suggests adding a ribbon to my insufficiently bouffant-ed hairdo, applying lipstick, and changing into a nice dress, thus creating even more laundry to wash each week.
2. Be carefree and interesting. Yes, that’s right. I’ve spent the entire day scrubbing and baking and cleaning, plus vomiting from the morning sickness, but when he returns home from a long, exhausting day in the office, I’m supposed to be cheerful, funny, and lighthearted.
3. Make sure the baby is quiet when he gets home from work.
Not sure how I’m expected to accomplish this once the baby actually arrives, but he says he does not want to return home to a screaming baby and a strung-out wife after a “long, hard day” at the office (where I also once worked, I might add, and found each day to be interesting and stimulating).
4. In the coming months when the weather cools, I’m supposed to light a fire and welcome him with a warm drink, like a hot toddy. On warm days, a gin and tonic should await him on the back porch.
Rules 5 through 18: Don’t question him, argue with him, voice opinions to him, or complain.
In other words, he told me I need to shut up and smile.
This home is his castle (purchased by my father) and apparently I’m the deaf, mute, and blind princess relegated to walking the parapet with him for the rest of my natural life.
Then, after dictating these rules for a happy marriage and stealing all my shoes, he left. He didn’t come home until 5 a.m. I pretended to be asleep when he came in.
Not questioning his whereabouts or activities when he’s been out all night is Rule #19.
Then he showered and went to work without saying a word.
Now he’s gone and I’m sitting here, literally barefoot and pregnant, in my kitchen.
I know what I need to do now. I just have to figure out how to do it. Because I almost forgot to record rule #20.
If I try to leave, he’ll kill me.