Saturday, November 07, 2009
Happy Birthday to Martha
Today is Martha's birthday.
She is fifty-six, but she still looks like the girl I married thirty-five years ago.
"Do you think I look like Maxine?" she asked, and I'm pretty sure she was serious.
"Of course not," I said. And I was serious. She smiled.
But you know me and my hoof-in-mouth disease. "You've got the crabby part down cold, though," I added, one of those truths that is best left unsaid.
Smile disappeared. And she's been crabby ever since.
That 55-gallon drum of "Oil of Gulag" vanishing cream I ordered from Jimmy B. hasn't arrived yet.
Perhaps duct tape would work better for hoof-in-mouth.
But no worries.
Tonight, when I sneak up on her in bed and give my birthday girl one of my excellent back rubs, she'll start purring.
And then tell me to go screw myself.