Same Difference
They’re together, of course. Right there at the same address.
In the back of their freezer, they decided on the fridge with the freezer on the top, there’s a piece of cake wrapped in a paper lace doily and tied with white ribbon. Somewhere there’s a scrapbook with photos. Somewhere else or maybe the same place, he’d have to ask her, there’s a draft of their prenup.
They both believed in a prenup. They agreed it was sensible. Still do. But they never could finish the thing. The words were more slippery than a person might think.
Now he cuts the grass once a week and shovels the driveway if he has to. She makes sure the oranges in the fridge are still OK and chases away the pigeons by the bird feeder.
“Smidgeons of pigeons,” he says, and she laughs a little no matter how often he says it.
When she says, “Honey, I noticed the tap in the basement laundry tub is dripping”.
And then later, “Honey, please fix the dripping laundry tub tap.” For him, these are never the same sentences. Different. Obvious.
Before she drives off and he says, “Oh, I filled up the gas tank and windshield wiper fluid in the car. Be careful on Sunday. I love you,” these are all the same sentences.
Bob Boulton returned to his passion for writing after a career in human services. His columns, verse, short stories, and articles have been published in the local press and in a variety of small-print and online magazines. His blog, Bob’s Write from the Start, was aimed at others who are also returning to writing.
