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The Garage
by Don Magin

“What the hell is that?  I come back from a week at my mother’s and find a new garage in our backyard!  We don’t need it, and we sure as hell can’t afford it!”

“Yeah, we do need it.  I can’t leave my new sports car out in the weather all winter.  And we can afford it—we just need to postpone building the new sun room you wanted.”

“Oh, no!  I put up with the weekly car washes and monthly waxings, even if it meant I couldn’t have my hair done.  I put up with the leather car seat covers, even if it meant I couldn’t get a new winter coat.  But I’m not going to put up with this!  I swear, you love that stupid car more than you love me!”

“Well maybe sometimes I do!  At least it doesn’t bitch at me and nag me all the time.”  With a slam of the house door, a second slam of the car door, and a squeal of tires, he was gone.

It was dark when he returned home several hours later. A note on the garage door welcomed him: I MOVED A COT AND A SLEEPING BAG INTO THE GARAGE FOR YOU.  SLEEP WITH YOUR DAMNED CAR!

He tried the front door of the house, but it wouldn’t open.  “Damn it!  She must have barricaded the door somehow.” 

“Honey,” he called out at the light in the upstairs bedroom window.  “Honey, open the door.  I didn’t mean it.  I love you more than any old car.  You can’t be serious about making me sleep in the garage—it’s supposed to get down to freezing tonight.  C’mon open the door.”

The window opened and his wife’s voice said, “You’re right.  You would be pretty cold with just that old sleeping bag in the garage.”

As he waited for her to open the door, a blanket hit him on the head.