Free Dog Training The American Male by L. A. Knight

had
intended to celebrate her first month living with Jacob by serving her
boyfriend breakfast in bed. That plan had gone awry when she woke up Sunday
morning with menstrual cramps. Seated at the kitchen table, she downed her last
aspirin with her morning coffee. Still in pain, she opened her laptop to check
her e-mail.
    Jacob staggered into the kitchen
in his boxer shorts and Miami Dolphins hooded sweatshirt at eleven o’clock. Heading
straight for the oven, he cranked the dial up to 425-degrees, then opened the
freezer door and removed a frozen pizza.
    Nancy looked up from her laptop.
“Pizza for breakfast?”
    Jacob placed the frozen pie on an
aluminum tray and shoved it inside the oven. “Call it an early lunch.” Opening
the refrigerator, he grabbed a beer.
     “Jacob, it’s eleven in the
morning.”
     “It’s Lite beer. Half the
calories.” Jacob shuffled to the chair opposite her to read the morning paper.
    “I got an e-mail this morning
from my producer – the quarterly Arbitron ratings. I’m drowning, Jacob.”
     “You’ll figure it out.” He
glanced at the front page of the newspaper. “Did you see this? It says a
Deerfield Beach woman was raped and assaulted last night. The neighborhood’s not
far from here.”
    “You know what I think? I think I
need to do something completely off-the-wall to generate ratings. Maybe I
should simulcast my broadcasts on the internet topless?”
    “Maybe you should run on a
treadmill.”
    Nancy looked up from her laptop.
“How will that improve my ratings?”
    Jacob lowered the newspaper. “How
will what improve your ratings?”
     “Running on a treadmill.”
     “I meant, instead of jogging in
our neighborhood. Nance, this guy raped a woman not far from here. It’s not
safe.”
     “I’m fine. Although I wonder . . . if
I was assaulted I bet that would get listeners to tune me in.”
     “Come on in the bedroom and
let’s see if it works.”
     “Forget it, I just started my
period.”
     “Would that prevent a rape? Wouldn’t
that be cool if they invented a tampon with a spike in it? That would teach
these maniacs.”
     “Maybe I should do a week interviewing
rape victims? Or I could bring in a few martial arts guys as guests . . .teach
women how to defend themselves. What do you think?”
     Jacob expelled a
colon-reverberating belch. “Sorry.”
    “That’s disgusting.”
    “It’s all in the diaphragm. I
could teach you. Then you could teach your listeners.”
    “I wish I could teach you to put the
damn toilet seat down after you pee. I almost broke my back last night.”
    “Hey, I said I was sorry.”
    “Sorry, sorry, sorry. You’re
sorry when you track dirt in my clean house, you’re sorry when you destroy the
powder room hand towels, you’re sorry when you leave your clothes all over the
bathroom floor. And when are you going to settle up on this month’s rent? Or
pay for groceries again?”
    “I told you, my extended hours
are two weeks behind.”
    “It didn’t stop you from playing
poker Thursday night with your brother and his depraved doctor friends. How
much did you lose?”
     “I don’t know. Not that much.”
     “Was it more than you spend on
beer every week? Or should I say, more than I spend on your beer!”
    “What about those two trees in
the den?”
    “It’s interest only for three
years!”
    Jacob was about to respond when
the oven timer went off. Using his sweatshirt as an oven mitt, he removed the
hot tray and slid it onto the counter. “Want some?”
    “God, no. What I want is more
aspirin. There's another bottle in the den.”
    Jacob left the kitchen and
searched the den -- his eyes momentarily locking on to the front cover of the Good
Housekeeping magazine lying on the coffee table, the photo featuring a
white foofie puppy curled up by a fireplace.
     He located the aspirin by the
television controller and returned to the kitchen – for the first time he noticed
the face of the wall clock