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Losing your hands in your pockets 1

Dear Bradshaw,

Before going to bed, while washing a wine glass in the sink, I noticed two splotches like cockroaches on the wall near the stove. Upon closer inspection, I realized they were clumps of potatoes. Yes, we’d had potatoes for dinner, but Francesca had already cleaned the kitchen. In fact, the dishwasher was humming through its cycle. How she had missed those potatoes would have been a mystery if it had been anyone else, but Francesca is… well, particular.

Like Hansel and Gretel leaving a trail of breadcrumbs, she often leaves trails of tissues. Perhaps to find her way back to the bedroom in case she gets lost on her way to the bathroom? Anyway, seeing those generous portions of potatoes on the wall was hardly a surprise as Francesca has been known to ask where Jimi is when Jimi is sprawled on the rug in the middle of the floor between us. Let’s face it. She could lose a locomotive in our living room.

If finding food plastered to the kitchen wall was out of the ordinary it was only because I’m used to finding it on the living room floor. Granted, we eat breakfast and dinner in our living room but even on days after she vacuums there are crumbs of food to be found there. Leaning over her plate while eating is not a habit she has acquired.

Francesca loses her keys every morning and every morning finds them in her purse. To be fair, she has also lost them in the front door on several occasions. If you ask me, losing your keys in your purse is like losing your hands in your pockets, and forgetting your keys after opening the front door is like forgetting to take off your shoes before stepping into the shower. If that’s not enough, Francesca often leaves the refrigerator open. Though she always insists on having closed it, I say the evidence speaks for itself. After all, if she closed it, why is it open?

She works hard, Shaw. I’ll give her that. She’s got too much on her mind to worry about where she left her keys and if she shut the refrigerator. Paying attention to details is last on her list of priorities. For example, I recently took our living room curtains to a tailor and had them shortened. Before putting them back up, during the week without them, Francesca never noticed. In addition, they’ve been there a week now and she hasn’t realized the curtains no longer end in two hefty piles that crowd the balcony door. And she probably never will.

At least we had had potatoes for dinner, right? Finding a chunk of prime rib or scrambled eggs stuck to the wall would have been something to discuss, especially since we’re both vegetarians. Not complaining, Shaw. Just stating the facts. Francesca is a beautiful, wonderful wife, and I consider myself the luckiest guy in the world. Meanwhile, Rome can consider itself lucky she’s not one of its detectives.

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  1. Dilza says:

    i like the concept too…keep it up.

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