“What do you want for dinner?”
“Nothing. I had cheese and crackers. And peanut M&Ms. And doritos.”
“You had cheese and crackers?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t call me down?”
“Right.”
“But you called me down to move the washer and dryer?”
“All’s fair in love and war. Guess which one this is.”
Me: I hate to miss another funeral. You’re family is so close.
Him: Is not!
Me: You have some vague idea of where all of your cousins are right at this moment. I am not entirely sure what contitent one of my cousins lives on.
Him: Point taken.
(I still did not attend the funeral; other scheduling commitments prevailed. Lord know what perceptions this is leading to. At the other funeral? Tom was accused of making me up. An imaginary wife. Which seems to be a running theme for me. Do you think being imaginary could get me out of doing dishes? Perhaps I could call in imaginary to work?)
“So I checked on my beer, and some of it is carbonating very well, and some of it not so well. It says to carbonate for a minimum of 7 days…I think I will let it carbonate 10-14 days.”
“At 7 days, why don’t you drink one of the most carbonated ones and one of the least and then decide what you like best?”
“You do realize you just suggested I drink 2 liters of beer?”
“Well, you married me for a reason, right?”
“True.”
Me: It’s entirely possible that you should not work eleven hours outside and then have a dinner consisting of three glasses of wine.
Him: I’ll keep that in mind.
Me: Glad one of us will.
The prelogue to this conversation is that despite receiving a third vehicle over four months ago, despite calculating IN A SPREADSHEET (the most sacred document in our household) the sale of the truck into our financial decisions, despite REPEATED badgering/nagging/threatening from me, the truck remains dirty, unsold, and in a vistor’s spot by the pool at the condo…
Me:…So can we add that to your to-do list?
Him: Sure.
Me: Like the truck?
Him: Don’t forget to add “Beat the wife”.
Me: Given your ability to cross things off this list? I’m not too scared.
“You know Norma, she has that disease….same as your friend. Start’s with a c…”
“Cerebral Palsy?”
“No. That old boyfriend.”
“…Corhn’s disease?”
“Yes!”
“Wow. That was a while ago….that was over two husbands ago!”
“Now you’re just bragging.”
“I don’t think that’s something to brag about, Grandma.”
To: Tom
From: Jessica
Subject: One More Thing
I have evidently been wearing my pants inside out all day.*
I’ve decided to not rectify the issue.
That is all.
To: Jessica
From: Tom
Subject: Re: One More Thing
Things like this keep me convinced that I “married up.”
*If you own any dark linen drawstring pants, you know how this is possible.**
ST and I were on the Busch Gardens tram, heading into the park. I looked to my right, and there he was. NB. It had to be. That gelled hair. The pock-mark under his left side-burn.
So I smiled, at first to myself as he was with a beautiful and skinny blond. Then I smiled at him after poking him in the shoulder.
He looked at me as if I was a stranger.
I took the sun glasses off. “NB?”
“No. Sorry.”
“Oops!”
On reflection, the hair was too blond. And he did not walk with the right stance when I saw him leave the tram. But that pock-mark sure had me going.
ST slung an arm around my back, “Sorry dear. But you can’t have dated them all!”
Or, how to get lost in strip mall hell…
“Do you know where we are?”
“No.”
“Do you know where we’re going?”
“No.”
“OK then.”
“As long as we’re not heading south or east, we’re fine.”
Insert five minutes of staring into the dark landscape.
“That’s Bloomingdale.”
“Yup.”
“Doesn’t that mean we’re going east?”
“And south.”
“Turn left. No, right! Right? That’s the gas station we stopped at once and did that weird turn.”
Insert five minutes of staring into the dark landscape.
“Wait. This looks wrong. We’re definitely going the wrong way.”
“Yup.”
Insert U-turn and fifteen minutes of staring into the dark landscape.
“Wait. This looks wrong. NOW we’re definitely going the wrong way.”
“Do we have a map?”
“Yes! Let’s see…Gainesville… Wisconsin…Hillsborough County!”
“Let me see.”
“Wait.”
“Let me see!”
“It’s no good. We’re here.” Insert jab to thigh, three inches left and two inches down from where map ends. “But I definitely think this is the wrong way. Positive. Let’s just turn around.”
“Let me see the map of Wisconsin.”
I was studying a manatee skull in lab today and perusing the papers belonging to it.
“Oh!”
“Hmm?”
“My ex-husband sent this in.”
“Are you surprised?”
“Not really.”