I washed Batman’s wallet.

He was not pleased.

I tried to argue that it now smelled clean and I was really doing him a favor and that he should be proud because I was finally making an effort at doing laundry but he would not be swayed. He actually started to shake. Batman never shakes. Not unless he’s hulking out on his Xbox 1 and I’m usually a safe distance away on the recliner, writing. And the hulking out has nothing to do with me. But this time was different.

I was the enemy.

And unlike his games filled with virtual murder, Batman could kill me. Quite easily.

I think he wants to, honestly. Every once in a while he’ll look at me after I change Top Gear or I spill ice cream on his blanket and I know he’s trying to tap into the force. He swears he’s a Jedi but only really tries to prove it when he wants to make me slap myself or run myself into the wall or off the porch. He concentrates too hard, staring at me, waiting for something to happen. He’s trying to kill me. I know he is. I called him out on it one time and he said he was attempting to make my ovaries explode. Which I thought was kind of rude because that seems quite extensive for a few red wine stains on his old wrestling tee. WHICH HE NEVER WEARS. Except how terrible would he feel if he actually did it? Yeah, you’d get some cool points for being a Jedi and all, but what would you tell people the first thing you did with your newly discovered powers? Oh, I exploded my girlfriend’s ovaries. Yep. That makes you kind of an asshole.

So I figured my spleen or kidneys or maybe my heart might just combust when Batman picked up his fat, damp wallet in shaking fingers. Eeek. This would be the day I die. On Memorial day when we should be honoring those that served our country. Instead, the caped crusader’s trying to murder me with mind power because I forgot to check his short pockets before putting them in the wash. My bad. I got the usual death glare, but couple that with the physical shaking… oh boy. I thought my little hobbit life had come to an end.

Luckily Batman’s love for me overrides his annoyance. We’ve been together seven years this past May and I’m still alive. We even went horseback riding and to a fancy speakeasy restaurant to celebrate. (Not at the same time, obviously. That’d be weird.) I just have to hope his love continues to outweigh his need to kill me. That, or pray he never becomes a real Jedi.

I’d be dead in seconds.