At Least They're Committed

She moves her palms up the stiff shaft and wraps her fingers firmly around the rod. It’s not what you want your wife doing, at least most husbands wouldn’t, but I’m not sure hers would care. She starts to pump, slowly at first, then harder and faster until, with a moan, the thick ice encrusted on the middle of her driveway starts to give way to the 6-foot iron staff, breaking in chunks and skidding across the clear parts of the pavement. There’s no such thing as man’s work and women’s work in her home.

He shows up, sticks his hand in the fridge and pops himself a cold one. A soda that is. “You’re just a blogging fool lately, aren’t ya?” he says. He looks like the dude in “Greatest American Hero.”

“Thought I might have run into you last night,” I say.

He picks up a green 4X5 glossy card, the red face of the evil leprechaun stares at him as he reads. “Signs of Malice,” he grins. “No, my dear, if I were to approach you in a bar, while I might grab your hand, I would certainly not start out with ‘where have you been all my life.’”

“He was gorgeous! Well, I thought so. Long blonde hair, 40s-ish,” I muse.

“He sleeps on his friends’ couches and helps them grow pot for a living . . . ” he adds.

“He wanted to marry me and was absolutely shattered that I was already married.”

He scoffs and looks again at the card, “Pity you’ll be out of town for . . . ‘St. Patty’s Eve of Destruction.’”

“Yes, quite,” I sigh. “Good timing all around, though, as D came in right as the dude was leaving.”

I pull out some pans and get the bacon and eggs under way for us. Jen and Miss Q are going to be here in less than an hour, hence the need to further clear the driveway. I haven’t baby sat in decades, but I’d best get used to it.

“Interesting insights from your friends last night, prior to your love fest at Joe’s,” he says over the crackle of the bacon. I love the smell. “You going to tell all of it?”

“It was freaking awesome! Gawd, I love those guys! But I don’t know. I need to decide what would help us and what would further muddy the water. Important thing is keeping the lines of communication open.” Gads, that sounded so professional all the sudden.

My left thumb is starting to hurt. I must have hyper-extended it clearing the driveway. We ingest the bacon and eggs, washing them down with diet soda and he departs in plenty of time before having to help me babysit.