Everything's Eventual: 14 Dark Tales

by Stephen King

“Like mother used to make” is what people say, but it can’t be my mother they say it about. My Ma couldn’t fry Spam.

You men slay me. Try being a woman sometimes, okay? Try always being the one that ends up laying with the small of your back in that come-spot, or the one that goes to the toilet in the middle of the night and the guy’s left the goddam ring up and you splash your can right down into this cold water. Little midnight skindiving. The toilet probably hasn’t been flushed, either, men think the Urine Fairy comes by around two A.M. and takes care of that, and there you are, sitting crack-deep in piss, and all at once you realize your feet’re in it, too, you’re paddling around in Lemon Squirt because, although guys think they’re dead-eye Dick with that thing, most can’t shoot for shit; drunk or sober they gotta wash the goddam floor all around the toilet before they can even start the main event.

I don’t trust the competence of others very easily, that’s all. I realize it’s a pain-in-the-ass characteristic, and I know it drove her crazy, but what she never seemed to realize was that I didn’t exactly love it in myself, either.