Monday, April 27, 2015

Once Upon An Evening Weary

Once upon a time, there was a man who could barely take care of himself. Let's call him "Yick." How Yick managed to go through life before he met his wife, let's call her "Sal," was beyooooond her. "It's a wonder that man manages to breathe in, breathe out, when I'm not here to tell him," Sal was often heard to say.

This one day, Yick came home from work at the sharp knife factory, all limbs and digits still intact, and asked Sal, "Did the doctor call?"

"I don't know," said Sal. "I just got home. That's why I'm sitting in your La-Z-Boy still wearing my work clothes, and not in the kitchen sweating over the stove and under the microwave, wearing my navy blue sweatpants with the hole in the hip, my yellow-pinstriped big shirt, black socks, and red Crocs. Is the light on the phone flashing?"

"No," said Yick. "The light isn't flashing. The doctor's office told me that if I hadn't heard anything from them by tomorrow, that I should call them about that specialist's appointment they were getting me."

"Well," said Sal, "it's not tomorrow yet. They may call then."

"Oh," said Yick. I guess I'll call them tomorrow from work and see what's going on. I'm going out to feed now."

Sal got up from Yick's La-Z-Boy once she saw that he did not desire it at the moment. She slipped into something less fashionable, and headed to the kitchen to warm some vittles in the oven, and heat up leftovers in the microwave for her son, A Horsey's, dinner. On the way, she noticed that the light on top of the living room phone was flashing like the emergency light in the women's faculty restroom when an alarm is sounding. Like a searchlight at a premier at Grauman's Chinese Theatre. Like a light from the guard tower after a night-time prison break. Like the beacon of a New England lighthouse during a nor'easter.

"It's a wonder that man manages to breathe in, breathe out when I'm not here to tell him," Sal muttered, as she contemplated chewing Yick's meat for him before serving it.


  1. I hate theses stories about fictional people.

    1. I see your point. The plot is so far-fetched...

  2. Yeah, it's a cause for a ticker-tape parade when a man can manage to find his butt with both hands. ;)

  3. My ex would always say he couldn't find some article of clothing. I would tell him it was in his closet. He could never find it. I always had to show him. Yeah, I may be directionally challenged but he...

  4. Sal should chew the meat only if it's a good steak. And if she forgets and swallows then she's saved herself the trouble of serving it up for Yick.

  5. Is it a coincidence that you ended Sal's story with Sal preparing to feed Yick just as he was headed out to feed the critters? In the "Farmer in the Dell" song, Yick would be a step up from being the cheese. Just saying.

  6. Who are these crazy people? You have such an imagination!

  7. Sioux,
    Don't start building your float just yet, Madam. Yick cannot even find his arm stuck into Sal's stack of pillows, much less his butt. Which had better not be anywhere near her pillows.

    I hope you dressed him funny.

    You're right. Besides, Yick is a pro at chewing the fat. Especially down at the barbershop on Saturday mornings.

    Yes. Purely a coincidence. I'm not a real writer. I don't see patterns like that. Now if it was a Seinfeld, perhaps, Sal was serving up some mutton on top of a coffee table book about coffee tables on top of the coffee table, while wearing the panties her mother laid out for her...I could do it.

    I know, right? I'm so creative, I've invented the EIGHTH basic plot!