"Uh Tiff! Those uhI, dishes ain't gonna wash themselves you know!"
I hear those words, and turn away from the pan I am cooking in. What the hell is his problem? I am pretty pissed... "You were nice enough to cook for him." I turn to Jade who looks... sorry for me. "The least he could do, is wash a DISH." she scoffs. I glare. Finally. A girl who knew my pain! Who did Chucky think he is?! I throw down the spatula, and then my apron. I grab one of the dishes that he was SO interested with, and I do what I did with the champagne bottle from the night before. I fucking throw it with a grunt. It smashes against the dashboard, missing my true target. My husband. Who is currently staring at me with wide eyes. "What are you doin'?!" I just throw another, with just as much fury. "Ain't gonna wash themselves", HUH? WELL WASH 'EM YOURSELF. "What would Martha Stewart say?!" Chucky yells. Oh now I am PISSED. I start to yell with rage.
"FUCK MARTHA STEWART! MARTHA STEWART CAN KISS MY SHINY, PLASTIC BUTT!" I motion to the oven, pointing at his favorite foods I had worked SO HARD to make. "Here I am, slaving away, over a hot stove, making cookies, making Swedish meatballs, and for WHAT?! FOR A MAN WHO DOSEN'T APPRECIATE ME! FOR A MAN WHO CAN'T EVEN WASH ONE. FUCKING. DISH!" I hold up a finger, just one! Oh now I'm about to bring out the big guns. Time to bring the pain. "For a man who isn't even a man at all where it counts if you get my drift!" I turn to Jade, who looks pretty shocked. "Take it from me, honey, plastic is no substitute to a NICE, HUNK OF WOOD." Alright, granted, Chucky had been well... pretty amazing last night. But that have him no excuse to treat me like his little slave! I turn back to my husband, who looks absolutely speechless. Then he looks enraged. He turns to Jesse, who looks just as surprised as Jade did. "I didn't hear her complaining Last night." Oh HELL. NO.
Chucky smirked at me, and I wanted to smack it right off of his scarred little face. "Any guy, would need "a hunk of plastic" PROBABLY BATTERY-OPPERATED to get a reaction out of YOU in BED." Now, I'm shaking with rage, my fists clenched and my eyes wide and glaring. How dare he. HOW DARE HE. He holds up a cookie, that I had made for him, now snarling. "And by the way... WHERE THE HELL DID YOU LEAEN TO BAKE?!" And then, he takes the cookie, and throws it right at me. I quickly dodge it with a yelp, ducking it. But my rage just sinks back in. "HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME THAT WAY?!" I growl. He just glares right back, like a six year old to a kid who hit him. "YOU STARTED IT!" "I DID NO-" Then, I feel a pair of legs kick me, and I'm shoved into the oven, realizing I'd been had.
