The waiting room

I was sitting at the clinic waiting for Clay to find out whether he was about to sprout a curly tail and a moist snout when a couple caught my eye. Six or seven Fred Meyers bags lay heaped around their chairs, containing what looked like clothing. They were underdressed for the weather and didn’t appear to have showered in some time. The woman was crying.

I flipped a page in my People magazine and began the covert staring for which the women in my family are noted.

Were all their belongings in those bags? Why was she crying? What were they saying? Could I move closer without arousing suspicion?

He told her soothingly that everything was going to be alright; they had a little money and would leave town tonight. (Where? Why?) Between sobs I heard her say she didn’t have a driver’s license because they couldn’t afford the $45. She began crying harder. Finally, she dashed outside, presumably for some fresh air.

Staring hard at the glossy layout of Tiger Woods on my lap, I tried to remember how much cash I had in my purse.

Before I could formulate my philanthropic plan, the man pulled a fancy schmancy cell phone from his pocket and began to play a game, the volume rudely loud for a public place.

How in tarnation could he afford a cell phone much nicer than mine when they didn’t have money for his wife to have a driver’s license? And whatever was bothering her sure wasn’t keeping him from enjoying a loud video game while his wife sobbed outside in the cold.

The empathetic feelings had vanished and my $26 remained undisturbed. There was probably more to this story than met the eye. Setting the People magazine aside, I crossed my legs and settled back to continue my observations.

Who needs People when there's a real drama taking place right before your eyes?

Storytime

I love this sculpture, STORYTIME, outside the Richland Public Library. It was created by Gary Price for the city of Richland in 1993. The photo appeared in the Tri-City Herald recently. Visiting the sculpture is on my To Do List.

Trouble in the Bedroom

We're entering our second month of marriage and things are going better than I ever imagined. Clay is a funny, sweet, generous man. He's also diplomatic and resourceful, which come in handy since he's married to me. We're getting along like a house afire, except for one small thing. We're having some trouble in the bedroom.

I'm tired of the chill that surrounds our marriage bed every night. I dread the cold shoulders, the icy attempts to bring some warmth into our bed.

Putting it plainly, we cannot keep the covers on the bed. There, I've said it. The covers slide off the end of the bed. They slide off the sides. We are forever pulling them up or over -- tugging, tugging, tugging. They will not stay put.

Maybe it's inevitable, given our combined girth. Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Chubs have unrealistic expectations from their blankets. It's like balancing a potato chip on a golf ball. As long as the ball is still, everything is fine. But if someone rolls over or tries to scratch something, chip overboard.

Maybe we need a king-sized bed, which would mean bigger blankets and a larger surface area. That's it. Whew! For a slender moment there, I was considering the idea that Clay and I should go on diets, therefore reducing our girth to something akin to a marble for that potato chip.

Until I run into a mattress sale, however, I'm going to try tie-downs or tent stakes...