Congratulations! You have just Written the Ten-Billionth Canceled Email Draft!
Thanks for remembering the date, but it’s not my first anniversary, not with Tim anyway. I married his fourth cousin or something.
If you were in the den with me, you’d wonder about that sound coming through the door—floing! ha! over and over. That would be Tim, on a trampoline set up in the living room. He’s got so he can bounce on it upside down, and touch the cathedral ceiling with his feet. Eight months ago, this was the guy who didn’t leave me any slack when I put my arms around him. He threw out all his old family recipes after I learned to make them just like his mother. Now he’s on an all-vegan diet, and the dinners I make him are like a buffet in the Fuehrerbunker. He bought an old racing greyhound to jog with, and when they come home, it’s always the dog that looks exhausted.
Believe me, that’s not all. When Time lost weight, he got most of his new wardrobe from L. L. Bean; I wondered if pitching a tent around our bed was his next step. He decided to teach himself a foreign language, and I have to explain to people why German words are pasted all over the house, including BLECH on all my saucepans. He volunteered for the depression hotline, never mind that graveyard shift is their rush hour. And we don’t listen to old musicals any more; Time discovered early music, and every Tuesday night, our house sounds like a Club Med for monks. I married a cuddly, predictable loafer with no interest in self-improvement, little knowing that when we crossed the threshold, that’s when the changeling spell would kick in.
Tim just came into the den. Our paper anniversary, and he had a five-foot blowup of our wedding kiss resting on his Bean Boots. We’ll hang it, to make me believe[.]
This story, and many others, can be found in our Spring & Summer 2013 Texana issue.