trish

Watching the two-ring (Brett and Layla) circus unfold and collapse before my eyes is hardly fun anymore. Though I love them both dearly, I pride myself on detachment. For instance: Right now I’d like to detach each of their heads from their bodies and kick them out onto the freeway.

I mean, honestly. Sure, they got married young. Sure, they had sizable differences that only revealed themselves well into their time together. Sure, Layla became too dependent on us as a surrogate family and forgot that a traditional marriage is still one man and one woman, or something like that, but certainly not one woman, a guy, his brother and sister, and his borderline-elderly parents. Sure, Brett glommed on to someone who worshipped him, who basically bought all his shit, and then practically loaned him the capital to go replenish his inventory. Sure, all of those things. But at the end of the day, they’re both killer people—two smart, attractive, accomplished professionals, both reduced to trying to get each other arrested.

To tell the truth, I’m slightly cold, tired as a six-year-old after one of those birthday parties where parents rent an inflatable moon jumper, and sick to my stomach from watching Scott hurl up the afternoon’s festivities (also like a kid coming off a moon jumper). Plus, I’m disgusted by this spectacle of watching two people try to overcome loving each other, two people who I think probably still do. Though you can’t tell from their foaming mouths and glistening fangs.