In defense of my villain

Every good story has a conflict. I try to contain my ramblings within the framework of a story, with a beginning, middle, end, a good guy, and a bad guy. Naturally, I am the good guy. In my search for a villain, my literary eye alights, more often than not, upon my husband.

Mike is that most dastardly of villains, Oil Can Harry. In his criminal spree, he runs down the birdfeeder, litters the house with dirty laundry, and pokes endless fun at me. He straps poor Pearl Pureheart to a log and sends her towards the grinding millhouse saw. Then, I swoop in and set things aright with a cry of “Mighty Mouse is on his way!”

But, I have drawn an unflattering caricature of my dear Mikey-poo, so I’d like to set the record straight.

I love him with all my heart and he delights me endlessly. Yes, he’s messy and sarcastic, but I knew that before I married him. I still have hope that I can beat the messy out of him and the sarcasm is highly entertaining (when aimed at some other hapless victim). Although I portray his idiosyncrasies as irritating, they make me smile more often than not. If fact, I often walk the halls at work with a grin on my face and a smothered giggle in my throat, thinking of something silly he had done the day before.

But, if I filled my posts with accounts of us making goo-goo eyes at each other, you would probably choke to death on your own vomit.

So, for the sake of an interesting story, he remains cast as one of the forces of evil with whom I do battle. I just thought he deserved the chance to have the rest of his story told.