Till Six Months Do Us Part
180 Days, My Love.
She walked up the three steps in her green nail polish
And paused in drama,
Allowing the sun to worship her from head to slipper-tips.
When she bounced in carrying nothing but the sunglasses on her face,
I smiled.
It seemed like a triumph, that her boyfriend of six months was finally rolling her boxes into his house.
“I will make this place glitter and shine,” I thought she’d said,
“And smell of nothing but my class and wine.”
* * *
Every morning, for the last three months,
The one-person-richer house has sent greetings of laughter
And freshly baked pan-cakes to my attention. A classic breakfast,
The aroma of which follows the boo out the door
And into his car, but not without stopping by my
Livingroom window to bid an early ‘hello’.
Following the whiff is always the sound of a rusty blender,
Interrupted only by blasts of something jazz playing on the gramophone.
I am usually not surprised when fresh sheets,
In their pride of cleanliness, soon hang spread on my drying line.
Date nights were bliss, far as I could tell.
Plans for dogs (three was the number that brought peace)
And kids — total undecided — were underway.
With four months down and ‘countless’ to go, a home had been forged
For friends and family to show up and call.
— But then, the laughter started to seem quiet,
And the lights begin to go out early.
Then, I knew.
The nail polish on her nails soon became faint, and the color of her personality was dim.
The slam of the car door grew louder, and the plans for dogs were ignored.
The smell of pancakes came later than soon, and the length of the life they envisioned shortened.
The laughter quietened until it couldn’t be heard — and might I add, I am a really close neighbour.
The walks shortened until there were none, or at least none going in the same direction.
Then lastly, but not finally, friends and family were no longer invited.
Here was the foreseen end. Boxes rolled out.
So what went wrong?
Well, everything. And nothing.
Everything goes wrong for everyone at every point.
If you love the relationship more than the person,
And the situation more than the companion,
Then the course is set.
Again, what went wrong?
Well, don’t ask me. I’m just a housefly
Who doesn’t like the smell of food I can’t reach, aka the morning pancakes.
I also don’t like anything louder than me, aka the two when they argued.
However, judging from the time span between the arrival of this new lady and the departure of her predecessor,
I’d say she moved in a bit soon. And then she’d expected too much from someone who never let any woman stay more than eight days.
Oh yeah. It’s as you’re thinking: She over-stayed her welcome.
But please, don’t ask me.
I am only a housefly. And I didn’t like her anyway.
