prologue half dead | I had long before thankfully come to grips with her slightly askew and under-appreciated view of my attempt at mental masturbation - a way of preserving my sanity without going blind.
chapter one extinct life | I liked my life before she came.
chapter three distant relatives | There were still a few more days remaining before I had to commit myself, one way or the other. Using the word commit seemed dangerous, though, since My Other Half coming after me with a straight jacket was a very real possiblitly.
chapter four good news | She hadn’t opened her eyes one morning, admired the sun shining through her bedroom window and said to herself, “I am so-o-o-o bored; think I’ll change every single thing about my entire life today”.
chapter five uninvited guests | In truth, if modern science could find a way for a ninety-nine year-old man to get a hard-on, then they could find a way for a ninety-eight year-old woman to get along with her daughter.
chapter seven balanced insanity | I did keep the phone programmed to 9-1-1, though, but not for Belle. I programmed it in case Moh freaked out and needed resuscitation. Or in case he opted for divorce by way of murder.
chapter eight recent history | Belle was not a rich woman by any stretch of the imagination, but she had more than a roll of quarters.
chapter nine big sip | You may know I am nearly old enough to be your mother, but the general public has no idea. You and my plastic surgeon are sworn to secrecy under penalty of death.
chapter ten cold as hell | Typing at my keyboard, I was halfway through a rather complicated explanation of the phrase Down Escalator and how that oxymoron, if taken seriously, could very well damper retail sales in large department stores more effectively than a downturn in the economy.
chapter twelve only choice | Relieved, she brushed her tears away and answered, "You have to admit it's been pretty weird around here lately. The other day I asked you to bring me a pop from the fridge in the garage and you handed me a can of cream of mushroom soup."
chapter thirteen rolling stop | We packed Belle’s few possessions that day in a sort of organized confusion, all the time trying to keep the mood upbeat and light.
chapter fourteen nothing much | Her lips seemed larger than usual. No, they were actually in the process of a friendly takeover of her entire face.
chapter sixteen hard liquor | Moving my lips closer to his ear, I continued to whisper. “I know what you’re thinking, honey, and I would prefer my grandmother not know that I have, however, taken my panty hose off in this parking lot.”
chapter seventeen clean toilet | That all too familiar rumbling in my gut was slowly creeping back.
chapter eighteen quiet riot | I thought the real reason, though, was to avoid another encounter with Mable the Turban Lady or to avoid further eye contact with me, since every time I looked at him I had visions of him wiping his butt with Pledge or Murphy’s Oil Soap.
chapter twenty pure filth | I bumped into Little Antonio as I walked through the door at Hobnob’s Bar and Grill. He almost looked frightened.
chapter twenty one melted ice | "Maybe,” I said, still wringing water from my sweatshirt. “But humor is not optional being married to you. It’s a prerequisite.”
chapter twenty two plastic glasses | "She’s sitting in a soft, comfortable chair that’s bolted to the deck of the boat,” I replied. “How is she going to break a hip? She won’t water-ski. I promise.”
chapter twenty three intimate murder | Belle chose to remain mute on the subject of The Eve during the ride home.
chapter twenty four hard water | Boating season had officially begun with the interesting cruise on Will's boat, but we were excited for other reasons than public displays of nudity, since Belle would be able to finally enjoy this vice of ours, as if any aestival pleasure could be considered a vice and not just a gift from the heavens.
chapter twenty five wedded bliss | It was the beginning of August and all seemed right with the world.
chapter twenty six nice and sleazy
| Belle
and I talked about many things the night before, not just Mohby Dick. chapter twenty seven firewater | I stayed up late and sifted through the rubble of my life. The rubble was too rocky, though, and I was fresh out of dynamite.
chapter twenty eight tough love | Moh pulled into our driveway at home, but neither of us opened our respective doors. We simply sat there, not talking, barely moving, barely breathing. Afraid to stay, yet also afraid to go.
chapter twenty nine limited lifetime guarantee | My decision in regards to Moh and my relationship immediately felt like a double-edged sword. He was walking on air, while I was simply treading water, attempting to stay afloat in a sea of doubt. My mind was clear as mud.
chapter thirty water landing | Putting the Abby & Me in dry dock had always been a depressing matter. The entire family usually viewed the day as an official day of mourning.
chapter thirty one terribly pleased | A month had gone by since the boat had dropped and gone to Limbo. My life was on an even keel. Moh rolled over in bed and put his arms around me.
chapter thirty two secret rumors | "Mom! What the heck? Belly can’t wear a thong! What is wrong with you?”
chapter thirty three guaranteed forecast | The plane steadily descended, its approach resembling a mirage in the tropical heat.
chapter thirty four bad health | Almost perfect would have described our vacation, since life was indeed an oxymoron. The oxymoron of all oxymora.
chapter thirty six demanding patient | By the week before Christmas, I had eked out numerous colums from what we were going through with her. Voodoo Science, Natural Additives, Unsalted Saltines, Demanding Patient, and Great depression, to name a few. My work was my lifeline, in a virtual reality sort of way, which was better than a pass the scotch decanter sort of way, although that scenario was becoming a frequent crutch, too.
epilogue serious humor | When my brother showed up for Christmas dinner in a pair of pajamas decorated with real, live Christmas tree lights, extension cord and all, and a pair of genuine deer antlers mounted on a motorcycle helmet, (okay, I’m exaggerating a little bit), I knew that I could no longer let serious humor evade me, for it was staring me in the face. And it felt good.
No comments:
Post a Comment