Flash Fiction Friday 13 (The God I Love)

This story is the mixture of two prompts.  The first here.  The second here.

     No one ever said it was easy to love a god.  Especially not the god of destruction.

     I walked into my hubby’s shrine the other day to a shocker.  And trust me, few things shock me anymore.  There have been several times when I thought I was lost only to learn that the shrine had been blown up while I was gone. 

     “Honey,” I said, my jaw on the floor.

     “What is it, sweetie?” he boomed from upstairs.

     I rolled me tongue around my lips a few times.  “I see you were busy while I was shopping.  How exactly did that happen?”

     “Did what happen?”  His voice was calm.  And dumb.  Mostly the latter.

     “Why don’t you come down here a minute?”

     “Fine.  We’re out of clay pigeons, by the way.  The live ones are running low too.”  He walked down the marble staircase at the right side of the room.  His guise was more human than usual.  Only eight feet tall with seventy centimeter biceps, give or take.  “What’s up?”

     I pointed at the altar, but kept my gaze locked on his eyes, trying to give him chills.  He didn’t bite.

     “Oh,” he said, scratching his shoulder blade with one massive paw of a hand.  “I must have forgotten to take it off before I incinerated my offering.”

     “Why can’t you just be like the other gods and let your worshippers burn their own sacrifices?”  I scoffed.  “I could have fallen in love with the god of pottery, or trees, or even indoor plumbing, but it had to be this guy.  Lero, god of breaking things.”

     “I can get it replaced.”

     “No, Lero, this time you can’t.  There is only one Eiffel Tower, and you promised the French you’d give it back.”

     “Oops.”

     I drove the heel of my palm into my forehead and strode off to the wine cellar.