HUMOR

I Lied to My Husband and Told Him I am Making a Killing on Medium

How do I cover my ass

Back in March, I freaked. I’m like that.

Like the hen, I clucked, “The sky is falling!”

My husband, Sam, was much more chill. His feathers didn’t get ruffled until it became illegal to practice dentistry in our state. Ya know, because we all gotta stay safe.

The government said:

Fuck your tooth decay! There’s a flu on our hands.

Actually, that isn’t a direct quote. I am the one who threw in the profanity.

But if a patient wasn’t in pain, they were SOL.

Sam never says SOL. The government never said SOL.

That’s me.

Here we go

Sam is not a guy who gets shook up. I am the one who quakes.

He’s the one who makes the money in this relationship — I am the one who makes it interesting.

Look, Sam’s not like me. He is serious. If the ADA or MDA says something, he’s on it.

Teeth cleaning? So last year! Let the plaque build a barrier against COVID-19. Loosing teeth? Better than losing your life? Amirite?

Again, that’s not Sam. That is the ADA and MDA. And the smartass tone is me. Okay, it’s all me.

Anyway, so we hunker down in our house with a huge mortgage and wonder if we are going to have to move in with his first wife. She’s the one with the money — and we’re friends. Her boyfriend of many years will probably, maybe understand.

NOTE TO YOUNG LADIES: Marrying a doctor, of any kind, does not equal wealth. Be the first wife!

That’s coming from me, not Sam.

I mean, I think his first wife and I are friends. Didn’t she love me from first gaze? Yes, she did! She called me, “A breath of fresh air!”

Every year, the kids and grandkids stay with us the week of the Fourth of July. Sam’s ex-wife and her boyfriend usually come over for a day. They are more than welcome. Plus, she makes me augratin potatoes that are swoon-worthy. She says she makes them just for me and I believe her.

She doesn’t portion off some and act like that plate is “special”. I assume she hasn’t poisoned me. So far, so good.

After she reads this, maybe I will be more cautious.

I haven’t died yet, and honestly, I adore her. But I don’t think she adores me enough to have us move in with her.

But maybe she won’t mind me and her ex shacking up on her couch if it’s just for a few months? I hear her couch is to die for! I don’t know for sure. She’s never invited me over, which is strange, because she makes herself right at home at our house.

No, it was never her house.

For instance, she came over Labor Day and took the picture off our entryway wall and funneled it to the trunk of her car. I’m still a little pissy about that. Another story for another day.

So, she took the picture off our wall. In the entryway. It was a painting she gave Sam after the divorce. He had it reframed. And she decided she wanted it back, so she took it.

She just took it! Who does that?

Sam said it was okay.

I never said it was okay.

I am repeating, so I guess I am not over it.

But, again, Sam accepted the fact the picture is gone and there is a bare spot in our entryway.

I didn’t accept it.

Whatever.

I am rambling. Back to the point.

Our financial security is on shaky ground. The future of dentistry is uncertain.

Stupid Covid.

We’re pretty much screwed.

The lie gets traction

I find myself Googling, how to block collection calls.

I’m getting a lot of stress headaches.

But I am not without skills. I have been writing for years and that’s why I didn’t have insurance until we married. Stupid English degree. Why didn’t I go into Archeology? That’s where the money is! Or maybe that’s Architecture?

Why can’t I stay focused? Is it all the wine?

But my editing business is staying steady. Last month, I worked for an Emmy winning producer. She’s a repeat client. Thankfully, I’m good at what I do.

But, the money I make isn’t nearly enough to pay the bills. And even though Sam is back to work, things are still tight. Did I mention the huge mortgage?

That’s where Medium comes in.

Hell, yeah!

Who cares about my novel? My clients can wait. Medium is going to save us!

I told Sam, “I got your back!”

The lie spirals out of control

Because of Covid precautions, Sam’s job has become more stressful. He takes it all in stride, but I know things are weighing on him. He stays at work after hours a lot. Doing what? Just being sad? Watching porn on his laptop?

I don’t ask. None of my business.

Well, eventually he comes home and wants to hear about my day.

I want to stay upbeat. I need to give him a reason to smile. “Killing it on Medium! Shit’s gonna go viral!”

I am a liar and I am on fire!

And I feel bad.

He toasts me with a glass of wine. When we clink glasses he tells me he’s proud of me and he bought a new suction device that costs $7,000 dollars.

There’s not enough alcohol in our house.

The next day, I experiment with adhesive and a wine glass and attach it to my face. It’s my new Covid mask. He comes home and the stem of my glass makes me look like Pinocchio. Very fitting!

I tell him my reads on Medium are amazing and I have had, like, soooo many retweets. I show him a digitally-altered glimpse of my stats.

Later that week, he doesn’t notice I have a “wine helmet” on my head with a straw.

He makes mention I look cute and heads to his office upstairs. Shoulders slumped, head hung.

I yell after him, “Hey, I had four new stories published today! All of them in large publications!”

Actually, I’ve had writer’s block and haven’t written in weeks.

I go to my office downstairs and put a pile of unopened bills through the shredder.

Guilt wears on me.

That night I ask Sam, “Can dentists administer an IV? Asking for a friend.”

He doesn’t laugh.

That’s good, because I was being serious.

I’m pretty much trashed every time he comes home.

I regale him with stories of grandeur, and show him what I can manifest. I point out Medium articles. “Look at this one! This guy says he made $5000 in one day! I can so totally do that, too!”

Being the ridiculously loving, trusting man he is, he believes me.

I exaggerate my views, my money, my everything.

One night he asks, “Why are you in bed with your tablet?”

I cross my fingers. “ Because it smells like money, baby.”

I was preoccupied. I had my friends in the Slack channel and we were brainstorming article ideas and telling jokes. Sam made some advances and I brushed him off.

Maybe we can get it on some other night? I am working here, remember? The wanna-be bread winner.

My libido was lost in my lies.

He sighed and rolled over.

Somehow, he’s accepted the fact that I have changed. Nowadays, I’m always on the couch reading Medium stories. He ignores my snickers when I am yucking it up with my new friends on a Medium Facebook page and getting wasted.

He lets it all slide because I tell him I am making big money.

Now it gets real

So he calls me today on his lunch hour and says his Yukon took a shit — an engine problem.

I am surprised he sounds so upbeat. Our checking account is overdrawn and the credit cards are maxed.

He says, “You were so smart to become a writer on Medium. We’re gonna get through this!

I’ve got a lot of explaining to do.

I hang up and dial his ex-wife.

We’re gonna need a loan.

Keep reading for more of Tracy’s twisted tales:

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