Like these summer shorts, less is more.
Here’s the first of my summer shorts.
She put her salad fork down. “I want a dog for my birthday,” she announced to her old man, her husband of thirty years.
“A dog? But you don’t even like dogs,” he grumbled, mouth full, steak juice dripping from his chin.
“Not a big one, a toy, a house dog to keep me company and sit in my lap at night.”
So he bought her a dog, a designer mixed breed, small and cute. He snapped a photo of her holding the peppered fur ball as he sang the birthday song.
Later when she viewed the photo, a shadow from a clouded memory crossed her brow. “I’m that woman,” she said, “the one I said I would never be.” Her tone did not betray the lament that boomeranged back to her from the past.
She was pushing a stroller in the park, her attention fixed on an old lady sitting alone on a bench. No, not quite alone, she was tethered to a Yorkshire Terrier which was sharing her ice cream cone. Gross! When I’m old, I won’t need a dog for that. I’ll be feeding ice cream to my grandbabies instead. I’ll never be that woman.