a story about pickles

when honey asks if I can pick up pickles at the market,

i snap.

"pickles aren't necessary, they are extras. we don't buy extras."

hmph.

and away i go. marketing only for necessities.

boring.

and still expensive.

he comes home from work later that night

with a jar of pickles. neatly packed in a small paper bag.

i can just picture him.

"would you like a bag, sir?" the young clerk asks out of habit, fully expecting a "no thanks".

and instead, "yes please, and make it paper" .

hmph.

so i begin to berate, and belittle.

preaching about extras, and money,"we're not rich" i say-

and "what kind of an example are we being to bugsy?".

who is sitting at the dinner table-

waiting patiently for a pickle.

we eat our soup.

honey toasts two pieces of bread.

bread i already have mentally budgeted for school lunches,

and i continue to fume.

"isn't soup enough?"

hmph.

i'm ugly.

and i recognize myself.

yuck.

but i can't stop.

so when they determine there is no desert,

they announce,

in unison,

that they will be going to the shack.

for a cone.

A CONE!

"a CONE???"

okay, rockefeller.

and "no, of course i don't want to come".

what, come and partake in some fun?

you must be kidding.

there are dishes to do,

and loads of laundry,

oh, and i am not done fuming.

i will fume while you are spending money

on extras.

hmph.

"mama" my darling yells as they pull into the driveway-

"mama, it was soooo much fun".

"mama, i played with mia, she was there, and we went down the slide"

"mama, she had a cone too. she gets a cone whenever she wants".

"yes, bugsy. i know. her mommy and daddy own the shack. she works with them. she is 6 years old too, and after school they pick her up and bring her to the shack".

and robotically i say, "hands, face teeth time, and bed. no story tonight. you were out too late with dad. "

hmph.

and as honey avoids eye contact in the hall, he says that greg, mia's dad says hello. "where's your mom, ?" he asks maddy as he twirls her cone for her just so-

"doing dishes" she replies.

hmph.

and the next afternoon, last friday, honey tells me that

mia found her dad's body in the kitchen

late that same night.

twirling cones one minute

and dancing in Heaven the next.

with his baby still here,

only bugsy's age.

extra

time

a gift for only the very very rich.