What Two-Thirds Of Wives Admit About Sex

[Headline, Huffington Post]

Which two-thirds of wives, you ask. Is it the two-thirds who aren’t like your own wife? Because we know that there are a lot of women out there to whom we aren’t married. Sometimes, just for fun, we pretend in our imaginations that we are married to one of these women. Such little dreams rarely include anything like mowing the lawn or fishing another chore out of the job jar.

Or is it the third of wives who are like your wife, plus a fourth third who are even worse than the other thirds? That is, will your wife and Angelina Jolie admit the same thing when it comes to sex? Sex with you, that is. They say that Angelina will always be kind – consider all those adopted children – always be kind, unlike her curmudgeonly father, that old poop. I did like him in Runaway Train, though.

The funny thing is, there are those guys out there who are always saying, “Come on, you know you want it. Admit it.” So it’s natural that you would think, “Yeah, two-thirds of women (excluding your wife) really want it. They should admit it.” Or, always the contrarian, perhaps you think, “Hah, they don’t really want it and if they had any guts, they’d admit it, instead of telling me they had a long day and they just want to read for a minute and then turn out the lights and go to sleep – quit pawing me for God’s sake.”

That’s what you’d think, being a guy. But you would be wrong. There is a whole lot more to sex than, you know, sex. It’s not all about your double bed, after the kids are asleep, with the lights off, after you’ve taken a shower and brushed your teeth and got a picture of one of those other two-thirds of wives firmly fixed in your mind. When they’re alone, you don’t think wives talk about butterfly kisses? Lingerie? That time in high school when they did the guy in the ferris wheel?

The bottom line is this: what women want and think and feel, especially about you, you don’t want to know.

5 Foods You Should Never Eat Again

[Headline, Huffington Post]

1. That big kid’s candy. What were you thinking? He was bound to find out who did it. Was it worth it? You can answer me when they take the wire off your jaw.

2. Whatever it was that gave you food poisoning that time.

3. Rice and beans on a first date.

4. What got you fat.

5. If you have high cholesterol, anything for which you must lick your fingers.

It was my fault.

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault and it wasn’t your fault. It was my fault.”

“Your fault?”

“His fault?”

“My fault.”

“It was my fault.”

“It was my fault.”

[100-Word Challenge for Grown Ups – Week #30]

Police Thwart Scheme To Steal Glacier Ice For High-End Ice Cubes

[Headline, Huffington Post]

The ice poachers did not get busted for their cube thefts, not per se. Some guy put in an order for a mammoth frozen in a big block of ice. Pretty cool, but when the glacier owners came out in the morning and found their mammoth gone, they flipped out. Lay in wait near their frozen sabertooth and when the poachers came back, powie.

The poachers were also hurt by the recent goldfish-in-a-cube craze. Their glacier ice offers a selection of lungfish, mountain crappie, and gar, but no species with that cocktail-gold glitter of the carp.

These enterprising vendors were also dispirited to learn that consumers were melting their ice and refreezing it in custom cube dimensions. Of course, this frees the prehistoric gases from the ice and spoils its taste. Our culture: sans culture. Why not use a dixie cup to scoop up agua from the toilet bowl?

Glacier cubes are still available. They come from Chinese (Tibetan, for the democratic purists) glaciers. One million workers imported from Heilongjiang Province work with tiny chisels. This crew represents the largest collection of iced-tea drinkers on the planet, yet ironically, they are not allowed to use the glacier ice in front of them. It’s like all those workers assembling iPhones, whilst using cans and string to communicate within the factory itself.

Once you’ve obtained your prehistoric cubes from the glaciers of the rich and famous, what are you going to drop them into? Swill? Of course not. Find a limo – not a rental, but a rich guy’s ride. Wait till the chauffeur turns his back and then sneak in and swipe whatever drinks you find. That’s what I do.

If your spouse or special friend is choking on one of these cubes: perform the heimlich, scoop up the cube, and get it back into the freezer as soon as possible. They’re expensive!

It wasn’t my fault.

“Did you measure that earthquake?”

“It wasn’t my fault. I handle the San Andreas fault.”

“You used that same excuse in our tennis match today.”

“It wasn’t my fault. My partner hit that ball over the line.”

“You blame everyone but yourself. Even your beagle and your jumper.”

“It wasn’t my fault. My beagle has a notch in his ear; it’s a conformation fault. My jumper’s knockdown in the ring was a performance fault.”

“And when all the lights went out?”

“It wasn’t my fault. That fault was built into the computer program, and it was tripped by an electrical fault.”

“You need no-fault insurance.”

[100-Word Challenge for Grown Ups – Week #30]

Business Memos

Pest Control

To: CEO John Smith
Subject: Breakthrough product

Sir. This is to inform you that our research team has created a product that will benefit humanity in countless ways. We’re dubbing the product “Cheeriat,” our new super-effective poison. At a glance, you might mistake a bowl of Cheeriat as some new breakfast cereal. Not so. One bowl of Cheeriat, distributed lightly (very lightly) over 1000 hectares of cultivated land, will kill every pest present, on the surface and into the soil to a depth of several feet, as well as in the air above. All life down to bacterial level and smaller is affected.

As an initial corporate step, we’ll be changing our SIC (Standard Industrial Classification Code) for the product from that for Nutrition to that for Eradication.

The original target area for sales, India, has seen such a rapid population inversion in recent weeks as to cause us to shift our sales focus to China.

Bunker Buster with Toxic Waste Payload

To: CEO Robert Smith

This memo will inform you of a seriously tremendous new product devised by the brilliant minds over in the Avionics (and now also Ordanance) Division.This is our new Toxic Waste Piloted Bunker Buster (TWPBB). Governmental customers will purchase this flying bomb, fill it with pernicious waste, the proper disposal of which has been plaguing them, to a capacity equal to, say, three hundred passengers and their luggage, plus some U.S. Mail and Christmas packages, and will fly the vessel, or craft, or missle, off over the ocean to the intended target, where its engines can be counted on to fail, such that the craft, or missle, will auger into the soil of the enemy.

The benefits that will accrue from a focus on this product include the elimination of any indemnity on this corporation’s part for situations in which the product falls from the sky prematurely, as our guarantee will extend only to operation over water and enemy territory, and at distances significantly less than those to the nearest airport.

Medical Training Materials

Memo to Corporate Executive Staff

Gentlemen. This is to inform you that we have launched a new medical equipment sales program to great success. This involves marketing our new anatomically correct Betty dolls to medical schools for their use in student courses and lab work. We’ve reimagined our sales strategy for this lifelike product after extensive test marketing and focus groups using Cub Scout packs and police organizations around the country. Our magalogs now feature “Aleesha,” “Gretl,” and “Lupe” models as well as the beloved Betty.

What this means in terms of Safety Stock (Buffer Stock): the company can accept orders from every medical school in the country and still have inventory to spare. The Just In Time model does not apply to items that, according to our division “intrapreneurs,” will continue to multiply on our shelves until we manage to make our China manufacturers cease and desist, almost as if each unit was so anatomically correct that she was having babies of her own.

Thank you.

Recycled Materials

To: Executive Distribution

This is to inform you that lead management of the United Building Erection Team (UBET) (that is, myself) has determined that in the current economic climate, we can best move forward by focusing on fixed-cost projects with Free On Board (FOB) terms set to cater to existing conditions. Therefore, we propose that, rather than continuing to build a 110-story office building, we instead sell, perhaps by auction, the required materials for such a project, as recycled metal, concrete, glass, desks, chairs, potted plants, etc., etc., all available in a great huge pile at our original construction site.

The company can issue Negative Certificates of Origin for all material sold. We have employed uncovered, or “naked” debentures at an excellent rate to acquire recovery equipment. The current corporate sympathy for environmental issues should allow us to make a very pretty penny on what some might call a “gianormous junkpile of failure.”

Regarding any former customers who might seek redress after somehow finding their way out of our recycle inventory, damage litigation is in place, with details available to you on the UBET dark net. Data regarding such customers will be blocked from the Deep, or Invisible, Web.

Random Number Generator

Memo to the President:

Sir. They say that it is impossible to develop a true random-number generator. We in the Tracking-Device Division (TDD) beg to differ. This is to announce our (my) development of a true such generator. This will be marketed to casinos and to the U.S. Department of State.

The device has been tested repeatedly, extensively, and the results never vary. For example, install the device in an automobile. Enter a request for your current GPS coordinates and the coordinates of a destination, as well as the best route from point A to point B. You will be returned values for any two possible points on the globe, and sometimes not even on the globe. Your route between these two points is apt to be, literally, anything.

The generator provides added value to any such device that the customer bought from us before; almost everyone needs a random number generator at some point. A booklet is included instructing the owner in the use of the device when running a gambling establishment. It will completely replace their current wagering bloatware.

Graffiti Control

Memo – For immediate distribution to top staff

Attention. We (I) are (am) writing to notify top staff that our new marketing initiative is about to commence. Be aware that this campaign is strictly on the Off-Balance Sheet (OBS) for the duration. We are rebadging and rebooting our “clear products” line with a thrust toward municipal governments.

Note that we’re pitching ClearAll as the perfect agent for stripping paint, grease, and urban grime from concrete, brick, and sheet metal. Spray on the mist from our environmentally sensitive can picturing a waterfall, green ferns, and a smiling woman (Caucasian), and if you were a wall, the spray would feel cool and refreshing on your face, and would seem to help clear up your acne and blemishes with amazing rapidity. But as soon as full sunlight outside would fall upon that face or wall, the cleaning nature of our new creation would be activated! It foams up and eats away anything and everything beneath it, right down to anything as hard as face bones, say!

We will expect profits reciprocal to our accrual-date investment and will market through adjunct agents. After a boomlet based on bottom-fishing amongst underfunded government agencies, we’ll issue commercial paper to accelerate growth and form a consortium of interested acid manufacturers.

Report from the Machine Room

Memo. For immediate distribution to Governance Action Group (GAG)

Sirs and Madame. I am delighted to inform you that under my management, the Unified Rotor Processor (URP) has arrived at Stage 4.56. The flanges protecting the five-part fan clutch are bolted on.The bearing-splitters arrived from China and were acquired at an exceptional price. The ball and butterfly valves are operational.

Returning for a moment to those flanges: the gray iron sand-casted flanges could never have been expected to meet our rigorous standards. Reports that they were employed may be ignored.

The prototype has been rolled into Bay 49, prior to its upgrade to 4.57. This will occur at 15:30.

Returning for a moment to those flanges: any flange coupling adapters must be high strength ductile iron, fluoropolymer coated. Reports that the coating was a fluorononpolymer knockoff may be ignored. No well-informed process director would allow this. Reports to the contrary may be ignored.

Ignition will commence at 15:35. Unlike in the case of version 4.55, interested parties will not be required shielding in the observation bunker (subject to change).

Returning for a moment to those flanges: the Model 920 Omni Bolt flange with tee-bolts and 921 flange lock will not interfere with the processor gears, preventing them from turning. Reports that in versions 0.1 to 4.55, the gears would not turn may be ignored. At 15:35 this evening, the gears will turn. That is, that are expected to turn.

Walk-In Psychiatric Clinic Program

Memo to: the Board of Directors

Gentlemen, let me again thank you for this assignment. Starting up a nationwide network of walk-in clinics for the mentally ill has been a task guaranteed to drive anyone crazy (joke); I have accepted this challenge with open arms, or brain, and I am delighted to report to you that my efforts have met with resounding, perhaps incredible, success.

I assume that you have all ignored anything that you might have read in the elitist press. Irresponsible use of terms like “maniacs loose in our neighborhoods” and “clinics that repeatedly turn neurotics into psychopathic killers” should be repudiated with the full force of the law, and I am leaving that little chore up to our company’s legal department.

Now let me get to the good news. We have literally saved a fortune by sticking to our initial hiring practices: no high-priced eggheads from universities and medical schools. No bleeding-heart grief and marriage counselors. No one expecting a living wage. We are truly the “tough love” healers in our nation’s malls, at least vis a vis our staff.

I will not require my bodyguards for much longer. I don’t trust them anyway, them and their “shoot to kill” orders. I just need to root out those in the company who want to kill me. I don’t think for a minute that any of you on the Board are among them. I did feel that I was being followed last night and I remember that you, Mr. Smith, seemed to be staring at me strangely when you found me peeking in your window, but I’ll let that pass. If matters get bad enough, well, I’m armed to the teeth and ready to go down fighting. I won’t wait to be attacked.

Progress Summary

To: Vice Presidents and above

Gentlemen. When I accepted this position, I told you all that the sky was the limit. It turns out that I was right. “Is the glass half empty, half full, or twice as large as it needs to be?” What’s in that glass? Sky? No! Our product!

I told you that nothing could stop us but our spirit if it flagged; look out at our flag. Is it flapping or have the heavy rains caused it to hang limply?

“I believe in the dignity of labor, whether with head or hand; that the world owes no man a living but that it owes every man an opportunity to make a living.” Isn’t that what we’re doing? Making a living? Then why the lawsuits, you ask. Because lawyers also have to make a living.

I told you that the only thing that could hold back the engine of this company was the collective feet of lazy and unproductive workers on the brake peddle of the assembly line. It’s not about shoddy products that make money but kill people; it’s about profit and loss. Forget that and you forget that you’re in this to make a buck.

“No one can possibly achieve any real and lasting success or ‘get rich’ in business by being a conformist.” This is way regulatory agencies are so harmful and why it makes sense to ignore their rules and directives. You aren’t babies anymore, obeying your momma because “she said so.” Instead, your profits are flowing directly into offshore, tax-free accounts, not all of them mine.

“Opportunity often comes disguised in the form of misfortune or temporary defeat.” Remember that when you hire my successor. Trust him like you’ve trusted me, especially if he’s my son.

Project update

To: Board of Directors

I have been asked to report on the current status of Project Eruption.

First: Ignore all previous reports.

Second: Ignore all unauthorized reports, fabrications from disaffected employees and ex-employees, rumors, slander, libel, and any media publications that you may have read, heard, or watched.

Third: “Obstacles are those frightful things you see when you take your eyes off your goal.” Our goal is to maim, crush, and then slaughter our competitors. That   includes any weak sisters within our own company. (Which reminds me. You still need to fill the vacancy on the Board caused by the loss of Chauncey Mousely.)

Now: Accrual in our amalgamated aggregates is on schedule. Abrams’ Law is in effect. We have fully implemented the Agile development method. At our next beanfeast, we’ll introduce the latest benefits realization statistics. Our capitalization issue of capped-rate carbon credits resulted in deleveraged disbursements. The Easterlin Paradox has resulted in an earn-out of fallen angels at the equilibrium price. Fiduciary considerations regarding finite capacity scheduling pins down capital flight with fractional ownership. We’re garnering our gazumped vendors. We’re glamped out around those competitors that have gone to the wall, especially the googlewhacked. Meanwhile, our customers are heatseekers. It doesn’t bother them that we indemnify nothing. Our indirect materials are intangible assets. We’re maintaining an island position with our ads; customers experience internesia when trying to track our support propositions. We have mole at Jasdaq; our knocking copy in that market masquerades as kaizen. It’s the Law of One Price all over again: we’re putting out lifeboats with major strings attached. These are not litotes! I acted when we hit a market-clearing price.

What I’m saying here is that at this point, I own the company.

Using the Oceans

Tom Flagg stood on a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. John Hay climbed the trail from the parking lot and joined him. They faced an open expanse of gray water and hazy sky, a light onshore breeze ushering in the evening. The smoothest line in nature stretched north and south in front of them, a horizon of water meeting twilight sky. The setting sun was buried in low clouds layered over the water, the air above the two men clear but washed out to a fading white that graded into pale pink in the west.

“It’s official,” Hay said. “I just got word. The U.N. voted with us. The oceans are legally dead. Including this one. Including all of them. U.S. environmental laws involving salt-water bodies become inoperative at the start of next month.”

“So I have four weeks to find a life form out there consisting of more than a single cell,” Tom said.

“Sorry, Tom. None of you have found anything yet and I don’t believe that any of you will. The oceans of the world are well and truly sterile. Nothing could live in them at this point. Governments can now treat the sea as one huge combination dump and sewer. We’re mobilized to clean the planet as it’s never been cleaned before. The Earth will become pristine again.”

“The land masses, not the Earth.”

“Whatever. Junkyards? Toxic waste? Radioactive waste?  It can all go right into the drink now. Along with the sewage produced by ten billion souls. When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow. Our five ships are taking the Molokai Trench.”

Hay gave him a pat on the back and turned back to the trail, smiling in anticipation.

“Come down before dark,” he said.

Flagg stood where he was, gazing down on the water, an ocean of it. So much water. From the cliff, in the failing light, he could see patterns on its surface produced by currents and the wind. Lines of whitecaps. The boom of surf came to him, almost a whisper. He tried to understand, to picture, to imagine this mass of water without life in it. Or, rather, with the same collection of one-celled organisms, bacteria, and viruses that might have been found in any half-filled bathtub.

He turned away, shoulders slumped.

That evening, he flew to Kahalui and drove over to Lahaina to join his crew. Their vessel headed out to the Trench at first light. Standing in the prow as they passed Lanai, Flagg remembered the whale-watching tour boats still active when he was a boy.

With their boats in position, his crew deployed their AUVs. One week later they retrieved something from the depths that was alive and multicellular, although barely. After collecting additional samples and celebrating with beer and hard whiskey, they packaged the creatures and Flagg flew to Scripps and then on to Washington with them.

John Hay came to him in the Capitol.

“I know better than to wave money at you,” he said to Flagg.

“Considering that the future of the planet is in question, bribery seems rather petty,” Tom said.

“And I won’t try to sell you my vision, either,” John said. “I’ve done that enough. You should know, though, that others can be bribed. The appeal of a clean planet…”

“Clean land. Filthy water.”

“…allows for a great deal of moral flexibility.”

“We found life in the ocean. Period.”

“This is Washington,” John said. “Period.”

Later in the week, Congress voted to petition the UNOH in New York for permission to exempt the new life form from protection. Congress reasoned that if anything could survive in the polluted waters around Hawaii, it might in fact benefit from the pending regulations that would allow the oceans to serve as a gigantic trash receptacle and cesspool.

Back on the cliff in the West, Flagg and Hay watched a barge train of filth wallowing west, away from the sheltering bay.

“We’re going to try again,” Tom said.

“Did you know that it’s illegal now to go out in a sailboat without wearing a hazmat suit?” Hay said.  “Some sectors, you can’t go out at all… Tom, you could find mermaids out there and the law wouldn’t change. We’ve gone too far.”

“I don’t believe that,” Flagg said.

“The truth is, your group wasn’t the first to find life. The land forces are too strong politically at this point for it to make any difference anymore.”

“I don’t notice Ameria turning into the Garden of Eden,” Flagg said. “Now that pollutants can be consigned to the water, manufacturers are more lax than ever. They claim that they’re capturing the junk spewing into the air, but most of it, they aren’t.”

“It’ll take a little time,” Hay said. “There is talk of designating certain areas of land and atmosphere as so compromised that now we can use them like we’re using the oceans.”

Flagg found himself praying that the sea levels would rise high enough for the water to take revenge, but he didn’t voice the thought.

Seeing the World

Our family has lived in Old Harbor, Nova Scotia, for generations. My father is a cobbler, but many of my ancestors worked as fishermen on the Grand Banks or as whalers. My older brother always talked about going to sea himself. When he graduated from high school, he went down to Halifax and got his SIU ticket. After he left home and sailed away on a cargo ship, a post card would arrive every now and then from ports all over the world. I determined to find a spot on a freighter of my own when I was old enough, and follow in his footsteps.

I would go walking on the shore, along the green line of wrack at the edge of the surf, with salt spume blowing off the water and over my shoes. Looking out past the dark emerald rollers breaking with a roar, I’d imagine my ship disappearing over the horizon on the way to West Africa. I always pictured myself on the deck of a massive iron ship with wind in my hair and the flag of some Central American country cracking like gunshots on the mast reaching into the blue sky above me.

“I’m not asking you to take over my business,” my father would say to me. “You don’t need to be a shoemaker. But go to college. You’re a bright kid. Learn something about the world from books and professors, not from the crew of a rusty scow on its way down to Guyana.”

Instead of listening to him, I’d pull out my brother’s postcards and study the exotic pictures on them, and their strange stamps from foreign lands.

I attended high school in Black Hill. Old Harbor was too small to support one. My final year, I met a girl named Abbey. This was my first romance and I felt more than a little crazy most of the time.

“Your dad is right, Frank,” Abbey would say. “With your grades and test scores, and the hockey, you can go to any school you want to. If we choose the same one, we can stay together next year.”

Up until then, I had never had a second thought about my future, never a doubt. I knew what I was going to do. Now, I agonized. Abbey and I had gone farther with each other than with anybody else before. The time we spent together, a closeness more intense than we were equipped to handle, created a bond between us that kept Abbey on my mind every waking minute.

“How could she even like me?” I would ask my father.

“Good question.”

“No, I mean it, Dad. I don’t know who she thinks I am, but if she ever wises up, she’ll drop me like a hot rock.”

In spite of my fears, however, she didn’t wise up.

“What about college?” she would say instead. “I’m sending in my applications. What about you?”

It reached the point where I couldn’t put off a decision any longer.

I might have chosen college if I wasn’t living so close to the sea, if I didn’t walk so often down a sand path through the beach grasses and saltbush to the shore, if the sound of the surf wasn’t in my ears every night when I lay in bed. I might have felt differently then, but the magic of that water, the sheer size of the ocean, spreading wide to the horizon, north, east, and south, deep and restless, infected me. Its color changed, from blue to green to gray to black sparkling with moonlight and phosphorescence. I couldn’t let it go.

We kept a small boat in the bay and I’d take it out when I wanted to think. Sitting out in the chop, lying on the oars, with the water clopping the wood of the hull, the ocean’s surface alive with sunlight in points and lines on the sharp edges of wind-kicked riffles, I would fix my eyes on the horizon. The boat bobbed under me and then, when the wind passed, it would settle to rest on the swells that passed underneath it.

I finally decided that if I went to college with Abbey, I might begin to resent her for preventing me from following my lifelong dream. On the other hand, after traveling the world, I could always come back to her. If she didn’t wait for me, it would prove she didn’t love me enough anyway. A thought away from that, though I didn’t admit it to myself, was that there would be exotic women in every port. The reasoning of a kid. One of the moments in life when a choice matters and will echo down the years.

Our romance took on a different feel after that, with Abbey applying to her schools and me obtaining a passport and applying to the seaman’s union. I had chosen my dream over Abbey and she looked at me in a different way after that. I was tearing us apart. Not some external force. Me.

We said everything that there was to say several times over and then we didn’t talk about anything that mattered anymore. We spent the time together. She wept. So did I, a time or two. We didn’t talk about why. I had doubts. They grew. I didn’t talk to my dad about them.

Abbey lived in Little Lawton and I’d drive my dad’s car over there and we’d walk along the cliffs above the water, or make our way down a split in the cliff cut by a creek, and follow the shore, holding hands, talking about life. Mostly, I think, we were just waiting for that final moment.

Just at the end of the school year, my brother Charley came home. He had had his hair cut in Halifax and bought a fresh pair of jeans and a new shirt and he was tanned and bigger than I remembered and looked healthy and happy.

He told us tales full of adventure and met Abbey and later she told me that she could see why I had chosen the life of a sailor over her. I wanted to say that it wasn’t so, but of course, it was.

Charley was surprised when he heard about my plans.

“Don’t do it,  Frank,” he said. “I like telling tales but the truth is, I’m not going back to sea. I’m going to go to school like I should have in the first place, and like I thought you were now.”

I just stared at him.

“It’s a tedious life,” he said. “You don’t learn much. You don’t make many friends. The crews are small. With a girl like Abbey and your life ahead of you, you’d be a fool to go to sea.”

I told him that I didn’t believe him. He shook his head and shrugged and helped my dad in the shop, and made school arrangements in Quebec. My world turned upsdie down. I realized that, all of a sudden, I wanted to run back to Abbey and tell her the whole thing had been a mistake, but the idea seemed shaming.

I heard nothing about my union application. When I called the SIU, the man I spoke to told me that no application had been filed. When I hung up, I saw Charley watching me.

“I know a couple of the fellows in the Halifax office,” he said. “They were the ones who helped me find a boat in the first place. When I told them about you, they were happy to help me out by losing your papers. I’ve done you a great favor, Frank, believe me.”

“What am I going to tell Abbey?” I said. “I chose the sea over her. Now I go back and tell her you screwed it up for me? It’s too late for me to go off to college with her anyway.”

“Tell her the truth,” Charley said.

I drove over to Little Lawton in complete turmoil. I pictured Abbey slapping me in the face. I felt a relief beyond speaking, overlaid with confusion and anxiety that kept me from forming a single cogent thought. I was desperate.

“Abbey,” I said. “I was crazy. I was so wrong. I guess you  can’t forgive me, but I love you and I don’t want to leave you.”

She took a minute and I saw several expressions cross her face.

“What changed your mind?” she said.

I wanted to tell her that my love overcame all, that I had known all along that I was doing the wrong thing. I wanted to lie through my teeth.

“Charley changed my mind,” I said.

She took another minute. She nodded.

“Good,” she said.

Wednesday Weeks

Mrs. Weeks named her children Monday through Sunday, respectively. She stopped after seven, for obvious reasons.

Each child was required to minister to Mrs. Weeks specially on his or her day, taking on extra, onerous chores for the twenty-four hours. Consequently, Sunday Weeks came to hate the Church, Saturday Weeks came to hate social dancing, Friday Weeks came to hate fish, so forth.

Wednesday night was bingo night and due to her fatigue at the end of that day each week, Wednesday Weeks came to hate bingo. Nevertheless, in later life, she won a new Prius at the game.

[100 Word Challenge]