A little bit me, a little bit you…

A little bit me, a little bit you…


After twelve years of marriage my wife and I generally move between mild irritation with one another to full on open warfare.

It’s hard to explain why we didn’t just split up years ago. Perhaps we are both holding on to the hope that we can rekindle the spark that brought us together in the first place. More likely we are just too cowardly to make the leap back into single life, it’s just easier to stay married. I think that’s what it is anyway.

Where unspoken difficulties exist, so the pressure of carrying them around builds. Given these circumstances, some turn to the demon drink or seek solace in the arms of another. I choose something a little different, I move her things.

It’s just the small items such as her car keys or purse. I don’t move them far, just enough to create a few moments bewilderment when they aren’t where she thought they would be. She makes it easy for me by not having a specific place to put them like normal people do.


He’s started moving my things. That’s how petty he’s become. At first I thought I was just being a little scatter brained but it soon became obvious what was happening.

The other day I watched his reflection in the window from where I was sitting round the corner at the kitchen table.

I could see out the door and into the hall where I’d left my car keys in a bowl on top of the small table we have in there. I don’t think he even knew I was in the kitchen but I was able to see him clearly pick up my keys and take them with him into the living room.

Later I found them on the bookshelf where he’d transported them to. Knowing him as I do he’ll think he’s being clever putting them there as I do sometimes leave them on one of the shelves myself.

I’ll let him think his ridiculous game is getting to me. If nothing else it’ll buy me a little time to plan my revenge.


I’m driving her crazy.


He thinks he’s driving me crazy.


She’s on to me. I went to put on a clean pair of socks this morning and there was a hole up against my big toe. Not particularly surprising, given my love of cheap socks, but when a similar hole appeared on the second, third and fourth pair I tried I knew I was the victim of foul play.

If she wants a war, she’s got one.


I know I should have just had it out with him but I couldn’t be doing with his pathetic denials and the inevitable screaming match that would follow.

He needs some new socks anyway. The ones he has now are terrible. Cheap, poor material and all an ugly grey colour.

We’re even now. He’ll know that it was me who butchered his socks and he’ll know why. No need to let the silliness get out of hand. We can just get back to ignoring each other in peace.


I ‘borrowed’ her credit card earlier and ordered myself one hundred pairs of new socks online. My favourite grey ones as well. When the bill comes she’ll be livid but, I suspect, she’ll also be a little impressed with the value for money my sock purchase provides.

It didn’t seem fair for me to be the only one to benefit from her generosity, though, so I also ordered one of those novelty key rings that make a noise when you whistle. The sales blurb said that it is particularly useful ‘for those with a habit of misplacing their keys’.

I wonder if she’ll thank me for the thoughtful gift she bought herself.


That’s theft, pure and simple. I can’t believe he’s carried this on. The key ring is quite nice though.

I should stop this right now. Be the bigger ‘man’ and all that. Alternatively, I could share a certain photograph on a certain social media platform.


There’s a line and she’s just crossed it. A photograph of me taken during the early years of our relationship is now on Facebook for all to see.

We were joking around one night and she dared me to squeeze into some of her underwear. When I did she snapped away using the camera on her phone. I thought she’d long since deleted it. I was wrong.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do now.


I can tell he’s not happy. He was sitting staring at a blank television set when I came home. I’d seen the comments that were being made about the photo and I know he won’t have taken some of them well. He’s always been able to give it, but not take it.

Perhaps I’ll try and make amends when he’s calmed down a bit. Although he did start all this.


She’s ruined my life. My boss has seen that photograph, so has my mother, so has my best friend.

Let’s see how she likes it.


If he thinks he can intimidate me, he’s even more deluded than I thought he was. The evil eyes routine is laughable and blocking my path on the upstairs landing earlier just makes him seem ridiculous.

After this latest incident I confronted him and asked if he had anything he’d like to say. He blanked me completely and left the house, storming off who knows where.

I’m going to leave him in the morning. I can’t take anymore. It’s hard to remember what I ever saw in him.


I didn’t mean to kill her, it just happened.

Seeing that photograph on Facebook made something snap inside me. After the incident on the upstairs landing, where she demanded I speak, I left the house and drove around for ages. I knew it was over for me but I just wanted her to know how much humiliation she’d caused.

When I finally arrived home she was already in bed. I honestly only planned to go upstairs and attempt to talk but the sight of the suitcase, partially packed with some of her belongings, made the rage that had been simmering inside explode in a way I’d never experienced before.

Before I knew it I was on top of her with my hands around her neck. My recent upset, combined with years of frustration at the way our marriage had turned out, was too much for me to take.


He’s killing me. I can feel the life being squeezed from my body. There’s no pain, only fear.

With all the strength I have left I attempt to push him off but he’s too powerful for me. He’s shrieking some words but I can’t seem to make sense of them. I reach up and claw at his eyes.

The last thing I hear is him squealing in pain. Even in my bleakest of moments there’s something satisfying about that.

And then there is nothing.


I’m lying on the bed next to her lifeless body. The pain in my eyes subsiding as the full packet of painkillers and half a bottle of whiskey I’ve consumed in the last hour begin to take effect. The pain in my soul is unbearable though, nothing in this world can ease that.

It’s a very expensive whiskey, I’d been saving it for a special occasion. I guess, in its own way, my impending death is that.

As my eyes begin to feel heavy I turn to look at my beautiful wife. She looks peaceful now. I realise that my love for her is still there. It had been all along.

10 thoughts on “A little bit me, a little bit you…

  1. This is absolutely brilliant as usual, as always.

    Everyone seems to agree here that you should…MUST…write at least one book. I loved that. Starts off so funny and then turns sinister! I could read that again and again. This is what happens though when you annoy a Jane! Things can escalate real quick!

    Brilliant…and I’m betting you actually do stuff like that around the house…’move things’! 🙄 Just to get a reaction!

    If that picture exists can you post it please?! 😆

    A massive thumbs up from me.


  2. Yikes. They say life imitates art… and that was quite a tale. And relatable. If I didn’t feel so apathetic.. I might just engage in a bot of warfare!

  3. Wow, you are a fantastic writer!! What a way to shed light on how long term relationships can fall apart without you even realize it’s happening. I did not see that ending coming at all.

  4. I commented on this on Sunday…it must have got lost in cyberspace. I’ve read this post a few times now because I just love it so much. Your imagination is genius.

    Such petty behaviour…trust there to be a Jane involved!

    I bet you do the type of stuff Michael does…like ‘move things’! I can see it now! Infuriating!

    Such imaginative writing…I think everyone is in agreement here…you have to write a book…HAVE TO. You could write a book of short stories?

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