Not even I thought about what consequences nachos, or the lack of could bring.
He had to have nachos every night at 10pm as he was always drunk enough at that time to need something to eat.
I forgot to buy more cheese. I then heard the stamping of feet and slamming of the tray and fridge door and mumbles under his breath about just how hopeless I am.
I started to panic inside when I realized that I forgot to buy more corn chips. Not even I knew that this deserved my shin bone to be kicked to the point of bruising and denting it.
I forgot to buy more of the sauce he used on his nachos. Verbal abuse to the point of no return I copped that night.
One night I forgot to wash up the soaking dish from the night before that he used to make his nachos in.
I will never forget the bruising that broke out across my sternum and the bruises across my back as I landed on the computer table.
He couldn’t understand why I called the police that night and why I had a panic attack that lasted for four long hours.
Wouldn’t you forget to buy all these things while you are working full time and raising three teenage children?
He didn’t work. But he didn’t go to the shop either. He refused to pay for anything that he needed. ARSEHAT.
bumpinggrindingskippingandexisting 