It’s funny out today. There’s a mild grin in the air. It’s like the chirping sparrows are really laughing their heads off. Like the gulls overhead are cawing ha, ha, ha. I don’t know what’s so funny. It’s my birthday. Is that what’s funny?
As usual, I wind up at Mother’s for my birthday celebration. Mother is one of those special spring-loaded ones. It’s vital to weave in her influence here. “Aren’t you glad your days of youth are over?” she asks.
Two bottles of meal replacement later I am corralled in the grocery store lineup behind old Harry and wanting cake.
“Zora’s without love or a dog,” he tells me. “What a laugh!” Zora was forty years ago for Harry.
Under Mother’s influence, thoughts begin forming. Lipstick and a hairdo from the days when I was flesh-coloured is what I am thinking. Some old-fashioned fertility to disarm Harry even if we’re both overripe. It’s still the twenty-first century, you know. We’re nowhere else yet. 