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 springloaded 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.