by Lucky Garvin
We do things differently. If we’re going out, I get dressed once. She averages 6-8 changes. “Does this match, Gahvin?” “I think you go with either the necklace or the sweat pants, baby, not both.” It could just be me, she always seems to end up in an outfit remarkably similar to the first one she had on.
I come home from work. She’s out on the patio. “I came out here to do something…,” she mused. It came to her. “Oh yeah! I am going to kill myself. Almost forgot. Such a memory I have… uh…”.
“Garvin.”
“Right.” She moves over to the balcony rail and looks over at me standing there with a grocery bag in my hand. “Oh Gah, my Last Will and Pepsodent is in the refrigerator next to the fudgsicles where I knew you would find. It’s self-explanatory.”
“Is this an inconvenient time to ask why you are suicidal?”
“I can’t get my hair right. It’s a mess! Close your eyes when you look at me, Gahv!” When I lived alone, I only thought I had emergencies. She can’t get her hair right.
Might have known it was serious.
“Look, honey, it’s only a four foot fall off the balcony. Won’t be fatal. It will only bruise you and annoy the grass.” I pressed on, “Instead of killing yourself, come and have some wine with me,” I soothed, reaching into the bag.”
“The type of wine you buy, the results might be the same, Gahv.”
“No, I think this is pretty good stuff.”
“Screw top or cork?”
“Cork.”
“You’ve been reading Esquire again. Very cosmopolitan. You’re a dear little thing, Gahv,” she concluded, coming in the house.
“I know.”
“Don’t get cocky, Gahvin.” She read the label and sighed, “You’ll be the ruin of me yet, spoiling me so. Three dollars and fifty cents for a half gallon of Hawaiian Chablis.”
“It’s even got an expiration date,” I exclaimed proudly.
“Where did you find this wine? Next to the bleach?”
“I liked the color.”