Dream Lover

Dream lover,
You support and encourage.
Dream lover,
You tolerate my every flaw.
Dream lover,
You’re aware of my needs.
Dream lover,
You’re a funny friend.
Dream lover,
You’re a charming companion.
Dream lover,
Where the hell are you?

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Dream Home

“Ah, my dream home. Well, for starters it would be self cleaning.” She smiled at the realtor, who was laughing at her statement.

“Okay, how about easy to clean?” she amended. “That means smallish, no stairs, no carpeting.”

She pointed to a house on the realtor’s iPad. “That house, for example, has a big yard. I don’t want any yard. No outside maintenance at all.”

“How about a condo?” the realtor asked.

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Footstool

I hated that damn footstool. It was always in the way. My wife wouldn’t let me put my feet on it because her grandmother cross stitched the cover and she didn’t want it used. It filled up floor space for no purpose. Actually, now that I think about it, my wife does almost the same thing. I should get rid of both of them.

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Bed

She wandered through the furniture store like Goldilocks, trying every bed. None of them were comfortable. Never. Nothing was comfortable – chairs, beds, standing up, sitting down, walking, not walking. In her pocket was a newly refilled prescription for Oxy, enough to end her pain forever. She cradled the cylinder full of pills like an old friend.

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Desk

She worked across the hall from me. Her desk was a trash heap. So was her office. She never threw out anything. Never filed anything. Never stored anything. Her file cabinets were empty. When my car died she offered a ride. I was nervous about getting in her car. I knew it would be just like her desk. I decided to call Lyft.

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Couch

You walk in someone else’s house and it’s strange to see how other people live. I assumed she was an ordinary homeowner, but she had a couch in the kitchen. The living room was full of camping equipment and nothing else. I didn’t see the other rooms, but I can . . .

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Rabbit

As soon as I entered her apartment I was surrounded by rabbits. I stared at them, astonished.

“Oh,” she said with a dismissive wave, “I have pet rabbits.”

“A lot of them, apparently,” I muttered. I walked further into the room and furry animals scattered around my feet like fall leaves. “Uh, is this okay with the apartment management?”

She gave me a hard look. “They don’t need to know what I do in my apartment.” . . .

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Cat

It was my house, but I abandoned it for several weeks while they were shooting a TV show inside. I made a ton of money doing it. I went back daily to feed my cat and check my mail. The best part of the deal was that the cat would sometimes stroll through a scene. The actors would ignore it, but the viewers went crazy for my cat when the show finally aired. I have a famous cat and a famous house. Not bad for a nobody.

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Dog

“Must love dogs,” the ad said. I didn’t love dogs, but the rent for the bedroom was in my price range. I rang the doorbell and a barrage of barking came through the door. Someone on the other side called out, “Just a sec.” The barking faded and a tall woman in sweat pants opened the door. I . . .

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Ma, He’s Making Eyes at Me

Stranded in the Love Field airport in Dallas once again. This happens far too often. I drowsed in my chair and prayed for sunshine. Coming from a gate down the way I heard music. People were singing “Ma, He’s Making Eyes at Me.” I got up and went to see. An older couple with ukuleles were singing and everyone around them sang along. What had been a terrible day turned into fun and sharing and conversation. What a little ukulele can do.

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