You are currently browsing the daily archive for August 27, 2009.
Charlene pulled yet another pair of her husband’s underwear out of the dryer.
She should probably do laundry more often, she thought. It wasn’t a chore she ever looked forward to. She reached back in and grabbed a t-shirt, snapping the wrinkles out with such force her bracelet pinched the skin on her wrist. “Damn! That’s going to leave a mark.” Charlene looked at the t-shirt as if it were the culprit. Displayed prominently on the front in bold red script was…. I have the right to remain silent… but, I don’t have the ability. She loved that quote from the great Ron White! It always made her laugh! She remembered why she gave that shirt to Bob. The quote certainly fit him well. Bob always wore his feelings on his sleeve… an attribute that was at once, both admirable and offensive. As Charlene paired what seemed like hundreds of socks, the mundane task gave wings to her swirling memories…
…It was a gorgeous summer day and several friends were at the neighbor’s house enjoying their swimming pool. It wasn’t a large pool, mind you – an above ground – not like those lavish pools in the photos shown in magazines at the beauty parlor. But, still, it was a pool and all the neighbors appreciated that they could share it. The ladies were all lounging in the shade, keeping one eye on their swimming kids and one eye on their men playing horseshoes in the backyard.
The men were a raucous bunch when they got together. And now, after hours in the sun, drinking beer, it seemed they decided it was time to have a pissing match.
“My Harley can out run your rice-burner any day of the week!”
“Oh ya? Let’s put that to the test… I’ll take you out of the hole, in the short run and at high end every time!”
“Bullshit! That Japanese crap is lame!”
“Your Harley junk isn’t worth the oil it leaks!”
The guys were inching towards each other, not even realizing it. Soon they were gathered around in somewhat of a circle. This was very interesting for the women to watch. The men were never violent, never took swings at each other – they were buddies, after all – but this ongoing argument about the virtues and pitfalls of American vs. Japanese motorcycles was always an emotional topic.
“Beer Break!”, someone yelled. That was a welcome relief. The guys all started laughing and headed to the cooler under the maple tree.
“You know what, Bob? You should just keep your mouth shut when Joe goads you into that same shit. You know his bike isn’t even running right now.”
“Ya, I know, but if he’d get off his lazy ass and go to work every now and again, maybe he could afford to hire a mechanic to fix it for him.” Bob bent down and grabbed a beer from the cooler. The icy sting on his hands, rough from playing horseshoes all day, came as a welcome relief. When he stood up, he saw Joe standing right behind him. It was obvious from the pained look on his face, that Joe heard every word of his cruel comment.
“Aw, Joe, you know I didn’t mean it when I said that you were lazy. I’m just all riled up from you yankin’ my chain. You know how I get when you start rappin’ on my Jap bike. Tell you what… why don’t I come over Saturday and help you work on that lump of a Harley, of yours? You know, get it runnin’ and all.”
The washing machine buzzer jolted Charlene out of her reverie. She realized that she was standing there smiling to herself. Bob is such a kind soul, he would do anything for anybody. Sometimes he just can’t rein in his thoughts before the words come out.
Charlene folded the rest of the laundry and headed to the kitchen. At that moment, the mudroom door opened and Bob came walking in, hands still greasy from working on Joe’s bike. Charlene, filled with warmth at his kindness towards Joe, greeted him with a hug and a kiss.
“C’mon, baby, it’s time for HAPPY HOUR. I’ll fix your favorite…”
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