An interview with my wife (otherwise known as Felicity Marie Fenton) Today Mrs. Fenton wears a long wool magenta sweater, a black and white striped shirt, black skinny jeans and a pair of scraggly plaid slippers. Her hair is damp. She smells of cough drops. She hasn't yet brushed her teeth. She wears no makeup or jewelry and her skin is slightly oily from carrot lotion. She carries nothing with her. She seems pensive and slightly fatigued.
FF-How are you feeling today?
FF-Tired, stuffy, sore. I came down with the muck the other day while dismantling the SRS installation. It was raining and the Portland Marathon happened to be finishing up at the Portland Building (where the installation took place). We had to park a few blocks away and make several trips to the truck. It was a rainy and luggy kinda day.
FF- Sounds nasty. Wet runners, heavy objects, no wonder you are sick.
FF- Loads of wet runners with soggy squeaky running shoes and limps. There was a poor runner lady in front of the building wrapped in one of those post-marathon metallic blankets. Her lips were blue. She looked like she had something, what's that illness you get from being too cold and wet?
FF-Yes, that. She looked like she might have come down with hypothermia, so I offered her a fruit and nut bar.
FF-That was nice of you.
FF-Well the intention was there, but after digging through my bag for 5 minutes, I failed to find one.
FF-I think if I would have gone to a coffee shop around the corner and bought her a cup of tea and a muffin, her lips would have gone back to normal. But we were in a hurry and I just left her there. I think all of this contributed to my current illness. If I had taken five minutes to buy her a cup of tea and a muffin, I wouldn't be sick.
FF-Oh come on! Do you really believe that?
FF-Half of me does.
FF-And the other half?
FF-You tell me.
FF-I think you're full of shit.
FF-Can we change the subject?
FF-Sure. Moving on. When you were a young girl living on 2525 south dahlia street in Denver, Colorado, you went into your neighbor's (an elderly woman who lived alone with her shih tzu) home when she wasn't there, sat at her vanity and proceeded to apply her makeup to your face. You may have been 6 or 7. What compelled you to do such a thing?
FF-Oh Ginny! I remember her. She smelled like roses and had rose and raspberry bushes all over her yard. She held a garage sale every weekend, but because her house was tucked off the main road behind our house, no one ever came. She attempted to sell the same dishes and household paraphernalia every Saturday. To answer your question. I was the middle child. I spent most of my time alone. I had friends, girlfriends who I saw as manipulative bullies and boyfriends who were younger and less interesting to me, but I preferred to hang out by myself dancing to Olivia Newton John or New Order. I was a nosy kid (still am) and often snuck into places I shouldn't have been. There was something slightly glamorous about Ginny. She seemed content living alone with her yappy dogs and I think she fascinated me. She also had the most amazing pink lipstick. I remember thinking her lipstick matched her roses perfectly.
FF-Would you sneak into someone's home and try on their lipstick at 33?
FF-I probably would, but I'd be sure to wash it off when I was done. And I'd probably clean something else too. If I saw that the toilet needed a wash, I'd feel compelled to give it a good scrub.