The Misadventures of the Laundry Hag 00 - Swept Under the Rug

guaranteed ingredient to turn the mild-mannered Laundry Hag into a belligerent, frothing beast.
    My wrath focused on Neil, the calm eye in the center of my category five turmoil. The man didn’t get worked up about anything and while this usually provided a good balance in our marriage, right now he was pissing me off.
    I blanked my expression. “If that’s what you think is best.”
    His eyebrows drew together to form a dark V. “Don’t do this, Maggie.”
    Tapping my inner southern Belle, I smiled absently and patted his arm. “You always know what to do, so I defer to your superior intellect.”
    He groaned and dropped his chin to his chest. Take that, hot stuff!
    Neil hated when I didn’t fight back almost as much as I hated loosing every argument we had. Granted, sometimes we’d fight, he’d win and then I’d go my merry way, doing as I pleased. Typically though, I wanted to please him before myself so arguing was always a win-win scenario for Neil. Not arguing, however childish it may seem, gave me a bit of a boost. My husband is not the type of man to yell at a woman, especially a non-confrontational woman. I always stopped short of bring tears into the game, but every so often I needed an edge, a way to make him understand my level of frustration.
    The patronizing tone took all the fight out of Neil. His shoulders rounded and he leaned back against the counter. He didn’t say anything and I got up to fetch a glass of water, just to give myself something to do.
    “I set up an appointment with a marriage counselor for tomorrow.”
    The water slid down the wrong pipe and I choked. “Are you serious?” I wheezed at his profile.
    He didn’t answer me, just stared at the school calendar on the fridge. Neil had mentioned going to a marriage counselor a few months back, but I thought the idea went extinct after the holidays. Granted, we had problems and miscommunications, but to actually go to therapy like our relationship was falling apart….
    Unbidden, the image of Eric and his bimbo in the ball room flashed and I cringed. No doubt, I’d been born with some sort of fornicator locator, because I always seem to walk in on people having sex. As if that isn’t enough, it was always people having sex who shouldn’t be having sex, at least with each other. I studied my handsome husband and flinched at the stress lines around his eyes. Guilt flayed me for my self-centeredness. He deserved more from me. A few hours out of my crazy life might not be a bad thing and deep down, I was afraid if I didn’t acquiesce to this, one day my fornicator locator might steer me to Neil. My heart couldn’t take that kind of beating.
    “Okay, I’ll be sure to clear my schedule.”

Two
    “ M aggie, dear, it’s Laura.” Despite the widespread induction of caller ID, my mother-in-law always insists on identifying herself to me when she phoned. As if the sound of her voice wasn’t enough to whip up a healthy dose of dread in my bowels.
    She’d never once invited me to call her Mom. Never made the effort to nurture any kind of relationship with her only daughter-in-law, no matter how far I went out of my way to please her. I dealt with her because I had to, for Neil and the boys. Family obligation really stinks sometimes.
    “How are you Laura?” I strove to keep a distant and polite note in my voice, but I’m not big on hiding my emotions. Holding stuff in gives people ulcers.
    I’d picked up the phone on the way to the mailbox and the winter air stole the breath from my lungs. The second week in February and at least another month of daytime highs slightly above freezing. I really missed Virginia Beach.
    “I’ve been better, what with this new partner at the firm driving me to distraction. They get younger every year and the inexperience shows. Holding a sweaty hand and telling the newest pimple-faced hire that it’ll all be just fine is not how I foresaw spending my golden years.”
    I couldn’t picture my mother-in-law holding anyone’s hand unless it was to keep him still while she latched onto his jugular.
    “However, that’s another matter. The reason I’m calling is to invite you to a luncheon downtown on Thursday.”
    I held the phone away from my ear and scowled at it. No way did I hear that right. “Come again?”
    “It’ll be a decent-size event for a friend of mine who is retiring. Right down the street from Beacon Hill.”
    “You want me to go to a luncheon? With you?” The questions