An interview with my wife, Mrs. Felicity Fenton Tonight a nearly 40 week pregnant FF sits on the couch with her legs propped up on the coffee table perusing the internet for digital ephemera. She wears a denim mu mu and a pair of red and white striped socks. Her hair is freshly washed and blown dry. Her hands are swollen and every so often she clenches them tightly to get the blood moving.
FF- How are you feeling?
FF- Bloated, sore, tired of not being able to move or sit or sleep. Eager to pop this baby out.
FF- Yes, me too.
FF- You look like you are ready.
FF- Today you cleaned out your desk drawer. Did you find anything you'd like to comment on?
FF- I found several business cards belonging to people I'd forgotten about.
FF- Did finding the cards make you want their advertised services? Do you think the cards were doing a satisfactory job?
FF- I guess so. For a fleeting blip of time I thought about having my cat's portrait taken in a blue cape, of getting a hot stone massage on my ballooning hands and labia, of getting the oven calibrated. But it wasn't a strong enough desire to take action.
FF- So did you throw the cards away?
FF- Most of them.
FF- What else did you find in your desk?
FF- Several highlighters, ten unsharpened number two pencils, stamps, a miniature stapler, a check book, postcards, and a few return addresses ripped from letters I've received from friends.
FF- Do you have any intentions of writing those people.
FF- Either I already have, or I will. I take full advantage of the US postal service.
FF- I thought one of the postal workers stole your birthday cash last year?
FF- I can't prove that it was a postal worker, but I'm assuming it was. The envelope was meticulously opened and resealed with steam. They must have needed it more than I did. I mean, who steals birthday cash?
FF- Some schmuck named Hildy or Tawanda.
FF- So did you call and complain?
FF- I didn't. Mainly because I can't stand being on hold for more than three or four minutes. The music, the automated recordings. I prefer to avoid it.
FF- What if it's something important. What if, for instance, someone mailed you a cadaver?
FF- I'd probably deliver it by bicycle to the cadaver tree.
FF- The cadaver tree?
FF- It's like a Christmas tree. But instead of being decked out with lights and glass balls, arms, legs and knees dangle from the branches.
FF- Sounds gross.
FF- Well it's not a tree to have a picnic under. I mean, you could have a bucket of chicken and a box of wine, but that's about it.