Marrying George Clooney

Oh my god I may just kill him.

And probably this will happen sometime between 3 am and say 5/5:30 am.

And this is what I will say, if in fact this ever ever comes to fruition:  I will tell the cops that he stabbed himself repeatedly just to prove to me that he could, and oh my god, they will take me to the police station where i will have a full out breakdown and say: FOR GOD’S SAKE HE WAS DRIVING ME FUCKING CRAZY BECAUSE HE WAS HOME ALL THE FUCKING TIME, and and and… he was watching over my shoulder ALL THE TIME, and he was listening in on my phone calls, and then… then… he would say slash ask: WHY DID YOU SAY THAT, AND WHO WERE YOU TALKING TO? And I will look at him like excuse me, what the fuck are you doing home all the time? And I will start sobbing in front of Mr. Police Officer, and Mr. Sheriff, snot nose sobbing, and they will be grossed out, and say, “Ughhhh,” and one of them (probably Mr. PO) will get me a box of tissues (the no frills brand) and I will blow my nose, and it will start to bleed, and then they will offer me a cup of shitful coffee, and I will say, “No, no thank you, can’t you see I’m fucking wired as it is,” and then…. then… they will send in a female police officer, who will weigh close to 400 lbs and sit down and ask me, “Ma’m, did you kill him?” And I will look at her and ask, “Do you like donuts?” and she will say yes, and I will say nothing, because that way I won’t be held accountable, and then we’ll look at each other for a few moments, and then she’ll ask me, “Why did you kill him?” and I will ask her why she likes donuts, and she will say, “Because they’re sweet and yummy!” Then I’ll tell her that she’s lucky because sweet and yummy is good, and then I’ll ask her – with some edge and irritation in my voice, “Why’d you called me “M’am?”  And she’ll say “Because you’re in your 50’s, and you’re much older than me, and I was told to always be kind to my elders,” and I’ll grab her by the throat and tell her to kindly go fuck herself, and I will make such a ruckus that they will throw me out of the Police Station and tell me in no uncertain terms to never ever return, regardless of the crime…

And then I’ll come home, and he’ll be there waiting for me with a glass of white wine – chardonnay , or Pinto Grigio, depending on what’s in the fridge, and say, “God I missed you, where you been?”