We went out to a Cuban restaurant last night with friends to celebrate wife's birthday. I woke up this morning and could tell I had a couple of bourbons. I had the lucid makings of a poem in my head but made the mistake of turning on the TV and the thing was washed from my mind.
The Sunday paper peeked out of the box and I carried it back and sitting on the porch, I opened it and found two comics; two Blondie's, two Beetle Bailey's, and two Peanuts. There was just one copy of the news. Letters to the editor spoke about a local off-brand denomination church having a carry-a-gun-to-service-sunday to celebrate our constitutional right to bear arms. Pretty twisted huh? One letter writer said good for them. After reading that I read the comics...twice.
The Swiss and Swede were warming up for their dance on red clay. High definition was made for tennis nuts in mind. While on my second cup of coffee, wife comes out on the porch, looking much younger than she is. I was furtively watching her read the paper. She's a piece of work, an original. I'm a lucky man.
"So, you aren't coming to church?"
"I'm watching the final."
"That's a poor excuse."
"No, it's my tradition."
"Did you see we got two comics in the paper?"
She rolls her beautiful dark eyes at me and leaves for church. She comes back in ten seconds. "Move your truck heathen."
Roger Federer wins his first French Open and tears run down his cheeks. This is the only kind of reality TV I watch.