I wrote this while I was waiting to meet my friend Louise for a walk around the lake.
Her name was Gale, like a big wind.
His was Brian, like a brain with its vowels transposed.
They lived in Saint Johns with no apostrophe
Which lent the place a certain ambiguity
Especially during Lent.
She was a facilitator who specialized in liaising, networking and conferencing
And killing good words.
He was in signage, with a specialty in logos.
They never argued because they couldn't understand each other.
Theirs was a typical marriage:
She was the breadwinner; he was a bored weiner.
They had twins: Max, Minnie and Gerard,
Who attended middle school in the middle of their middle class town in middle America.
Their home was in the third and fourth layers
Of a strata complex
Which was actually very simple.
Their favourite hobbies were prime numbers, prime rib and primetime television
Which they watched only if filmed before a live audience
Because dead audiences were just too gross.
One hundred forty-four days later they died.
Nobody missed them.
My mom just emailed me to remind me that I am a mother and a wife, and that the latter will resume greater significance later in my life. I thought it was kind of cool that I wrote this story pretty much similtaneously.
Good stuff: The PNE opens today. It's really fun. I heard on CBC Radio's Almanac Show that they expect 1 million people to attend. We might go tomorrow (today it's raining cats and dogs).
Question for today: Does being a mom change your attitude toward being a wife?
That's all for now.
mompoet - sipping Costco coffee and returning to a long slow crawl through the Saturday paper in avoidance of the vacuum cleaner, kitty litter and 7 baskets of unfolded laundry.
PS - I know I should buy the coffee at the local coffee shop. I usually do. I will next time.