Spousal Abuse

 

(Am I a secret masochist?)

Yesterday, I strolled to McDonald’s at noon. That’s the best thing about living in a Korean city. You don’t need a car to get to your favorite spots. Everything is pretty much in walking distance.

Anyway, I ordered a cup of coffee and sat by my lonesome. But it wasn’t long until I was joined by an old friend. His name is Livingston, and he’s a pastor from New York. He’s currently working at a church in Seoul.

We hadn’t seen each other in a couple of months, and we exchanged a warm greeting. Then he sat across from me. He had purchased a ten-piece McNugget set. It came with an order of fries and a Coke.

He said, “How did you enjoy your trip to America?”

“I loved it. But the prices were very high. That same meal your eating now would set you back 12 bucks in Texas.”

“Man, that’s crazy.”

I shrugged and smiled. “High prices or not, there’s no place like home. I’m thinking about returning in a year.”

He let out an audible gasp. “But you’ve been living here for so long. What on earth would you do?”

“I’m thinking about becoming an overnight fry cook at Waffle House.”

He laughed out loud and clapped his hands. “Good one.”

“I’m not joking. I want a gig where I don’t have to think. I might also apply for a front-end associate at Walmart. It pays 22 dollars an hour.”

“What does it entail?”

“I’d have to work the cash register, collect the buggies, and clean the shit house.”

The pastor sighed heavily. “Jack, you’re a college man. Are you gonna let all that education go to waste?”

“I couldn’t give a flying screw about my education. I’m getting older, and I need to make a buck without feeling stress.”

“Where would you live?”

“I’m planning on moving in with my mom. She has a big house with plenty of space. My sons will be there, too.”

“And your wife? What does she say about your plans?”

I took a sip of coffee. “I’ll probably just leave her in Korea. It’s no big deal. She doesn’t love me anyway. Maybe she’ll find somebody new. God knows that I don’t make her happy.”

“Have you tried communicating your feelings to her?”

“A million times. But all she does is abuse me with foul language. And the names she calls me! You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

He shot me a sarcastic smirk. “Try me.”

“Are you sure?”

“C’mon, man. I’m a pastor. I’ve heard it all before.”

“Her favorite word is cunt. That’s the title she uses the most when addressing me. She also refers to me as a motherfucker, an idiot, and a retard. To make matters worse, she’s currently praying to the Lord in hopes that he’ll kill my mother.”

He popped a McNugget into his mouth and chewed for several seconds. “You should have more of a missionary spirit. Let’s pretend that Christ simply gave up right before he got crucified. None of us would be saved. Life isn’t meant to be a bed of roses.”

“Well, let Jesus marry her.”

I wasn’t being rude. In fact, I completely understand my friend’s point of view. Furthermore, he’s a pastor, so he has to push the company line. Trust me. I get it. Yet I’m beginning to wonder if I’m a secret masochist. Lots of men pay good money to be abused by women who earn their living as a dominatrix. These chicks beat their clients with whips and place painful clamps on their testicles. They even ram foreign objects up their clients’ assholes and stomp on their genitals with high-heeled shoes.

And that’s how I’m beginning to feel. Am I one of those sickos who wants to be punished? I certainly hope not. Therefore, it’s time to stop the cycle of abuse. I’ve got twenty years left until I die. Things have to change.