The arm chair she sat in had a wet cat funk to it, but Granny still sat there, day after day, moaning about how Pop never did the dishes, not a day in his whole life.
‘Old men don’t care that it’s a woman’s world, these days, love. Old men still think it’s their right to own their wife and treat her as they like,’ Granny said.
I felt for Granny, I really did. It was the daggers in her eyes that did it; the flash of the TV lit up inside of them like a raging inferno breaking through that dainty old lady face of hers.
I wasn’t much of a feminist, but Granny had me in the guts on those cat chair days.
And that’s how I knew I’d never be getting me one of those husband things.
There just wasn’t room in the world for any more sad women, like Granny.