Fancy Ass

CRASH, clank, tinkle, tinkle, tinkle....    tink!

Well, I could only keep those things balancing for so long before something came crashing down.
"Goddamnit, what did you break now? What was that, which of my things did you break?"

For once I kept my mouth shut. I quietly walked past the apoplectic Mark and proceeded to go get the broom and dustpan. What had happened was that I had looked behind Mark's little wine bar and noticed a lot of dust. So I moved it away from the wall, vacuumed up the dust and dirt, and was pushing it back when it snagged on a seam in the floor. That caused two of Mark's fancy ass wine glasses to come tumbling down and smash onto the floor. No problem, that's two more things that I won't have to move to Chicago, if and when we move to Chicago.

What I have going on here is a intricate balancing act. On one hand I have to deal with the real estate agent and the supposed buyers of this house, and then on the other hand I have to deal with Mark. I have to explain each and every move I make to him, sometimes four or five times over. If I'm not getting pressure from the agent, I'm getting a haranguing, nagging, whine from Mark about not getting enough money from everybody. Mark's favorite whine is, "You never include me. I have nothing to say about what happens in this house." Which of course is completely untrue. After all, that damn fancy ass wine bar, with its fancy ass wine glasses, would have never been in this house if it weren't for Mark.