Life and Island Times July 30 2016 – Southern Sky Storm

This one is from 2012.

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The afternoon and early evening had seen Marlow complete the divorce mediator’s homework assignment – a twenty page financial affidavit that got down to well below the nitty gritty. He had blasted a digital copy it off onto the infobahn to the “soon to be ex-wife” (her self-announced new title at a Duval Street wine bar to all attendees at dear friends’ 40th wedding anniversary two weeks ago).

The skies outside were prematurely darkening as Marlow entered the final lap of preparing Monday night’s meal for one. When the heavens cracked, the phone rang. At that very moment Winnie the cat was entwined in his ankles panhandling for scraps of food.

Since Marlow wanted to plate all courses simultaneously, he rushed to answer the phone and nearly launched himself head first into the Winnie’s granulated, clumping and odorless indoor restroom.

Whoever was at the end of the phone was about to get short shrift. Lo and behold it was the “soon to ex-wife” with more good ideas and thoughts on how to complicate the just finished affidavit.

In the frustrating conversation that followed, she used pronouns without noun antecedents that forced him to play Karnac without Johnny Carson’s magic all-seeing turban. As the crescendo of his dinner plating reached its height, he reached over to his cell phone which lay athwart a Rhone wine filled stem when the unthinkable started to occur.

The damn $500 phone had started a swan dive into the wine. Two tears in a bucket, motherf*ckit escaped his lips as he grabbed, fumbled, bumbled and stumbled about the kitchen to save wine, phone and call.

Two out of three ain’t bad. But the ex was cut off. Oh well.

As he started eating dinner, the cell phone beeped and booped with text messages bearing him ill will. This was accompanied by skies outside being sundered by lightning flashes while the windows were rattled by lightning strikes less than a hundred yard away.

With the meal finished, the storm abated. So did the incessantly bitchy cell phone symphony.

He went out on the stoop to watch the southern skies. The storm had moved southwest and had become an electrical nightmare.

It was then that Winnie zee French speaking cat escaped. She was old but spry enough to escape despite Marlow’s sore lower back, bust-a-moves to block.

He ceded to her superior semper gumby and quad hip swivel superiority. So he went upstairs to observe the night’s son et lumiere three or so miles south of NAS Boca Chica.

The mechante chatte returned when the first fat assed rain drop fell. Smart chatte. There was tuna in the bowl for her and whiskey in the jar for Marlow.

Weigh ho, up she rises . . .

Southern Sky Storm

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