My Beloved Black Shoe

           More about me- - -
           I'm in a very dysfunctional relationship with my baby daddy, I'll be the first to admit it (although my family and friends are a very close second).  It's actually shockingly cliche, and involves money, bars and kids (you can fill in the blanks, I'm sure).  The gravity of my situation only truly struck me when I found myself on my porch yelling 'Well, move out to your stupid shack in Angola you $%#@*!  See if I care!'- shortly after the receiving end of this scathing declaration had finished a stint in the slammer for a DWI.  It was then that the boundaries between being broke and being white trash seemed just a little too fuzzy.  I found myself thinking as I slammed the door (leaving it unlocked for the culprit to slink back in, of course), 'How did I get to this point?  Further, if I keep heading in this direction, I will be living in a trailer park drinking Red Dog in only a matter of time'  I call it the Gervaise syndrome.
           I've put up with far more than any righteous Ani DiFranco era female ever should have with Joe.  He also claims that he has put up with far more than he should have with me, pointing out my tendency to lose things and my moodiness which resembles that of Kathy Bates' character in Stephen King's 'Misery'.  I find it difficult to understand how these compare in any way with him returning home at 10:30 in the morning while  I spend the night in a cold fury, or taking the car out again and again when his blood alcohol level is through the roof and his license is already suspended AND we had a six month old baby (he inevitably got arrested and sentenced to a year in jail).  All of this Joe casually brushes off as minor flaws eclipsed by his otherwise exceptional character.  And since he sticks to his opinions like a leech, to my impressionable mind they often take on a sort of realism, no matter how absurd.  How trying it must be for this stellar character indeed, my emerging unexpectedly from dark doorways with a strange gleam to my eyes and tears streaming down my face, and my 'losing things'.
            My Achilles heel with Joe is my tendency to laugh inappropriately.  Even after he's done something particularly outrageous and infuriating, I find myself fighting back a ghastly smile while in the midst of berating him.  Often, I will pretend to rage out of the room only so as to let out some desperate giggles.  The truth is, I really can't find it in myself to expend the energy of full fledged anger on him and his ridiculous exploits.  It also doesn't help that Joe himself is hilarious, and since he has me laughing more than he has me crying, sometimes both at the same time (which points to some sort of abnormality of my own, I will admit) it's basically a losing battle on my part.
             Don't get me wrong, Joe's far from a monster.  He's more of a character, and although he is continuously pulling off   shockingly self centered escapades, his quirky personality is pleasantly stimulating enough that I can't bring myself to pull the plug on our relationship.  For the truth of the matter is, I will never find another Joe.  There's always another sensitive artist out there, or upright businessman, or macho jock.  But find me another testosterone driven maniac who I will come home to find tears trickling down his face as he plays a sentimental song on repeat?  Or a beer drinking, football watching machismo who refers to himself as 'the li'l guy' and threatens to 'wobble down the street with all of his possessions in a hanky on a stick' if I don't give him a snack?  Or a taciturn grouch who has the ability of making me laugh hysterically with just one look?  Or someone who holds within themselves the capabilities of both lying on a couch for 24 hours straight requesting snack after snack and working a twelve hour day in the burning sun consuming nothing but a bottle of water?  It's all just so amusing.  Give me another Joe, and I'll kick this one right out the door.