Old People Like to Take Trips

Moral: DON'T WAIT UNTIL YOU ARE OLD TO TRAVEL

trigger-warning: This story contains terrible ways to help your spouse do permanent harm to humans. There is also some off-the-shelf drug use. Please step gently.

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For my birthday Michelle gave me a moldy flower. 

Since she was from Modesto and people smoke funny things and make psychotropic tea out of bread mold so I kinda shrugged my shoulders and asked, “Are we going on a trip together?”

This was really cool because Michelle always wanted to go to Ireland and see if there were other red-headed people who got angry over toilet seat lids being left open. She was looking for some family and I wasn't looking for any birth certificate fast enough to get a new passport.

In America they will not let you leave unless you can prove that you are American. 

Michelle poured the tea. 

We were past the portion of our relationship where she still wanted to kill me. We had expelled most of our children from the house and the ones that remained were kind of spongy.

In fact we were just like any of those passionless Old English couples taking our psychedelic tea on the Veranda, waiting for the IRS to deny their last tax filing, waiting for the grass to grow higher so that Roberto could take our money to end Septiembre.

Michelle had those cute little salad tongs/nipple-clamps which are also used to collect cubes of sugar. So cute. 

As soon as she put the sugar cubes into grandma’s gold rimmed tea cup made from fine Opium War porcelain -- the tea began to bubble. I looked at her sharply and required that she answer correctly: “Have you ever washed my grandmother’s tea set before?”

“Well, no.”

Michelle explained that many antiques should not be washed to preserve some integrity but since I was now an antique she thought my age paired nicely with the old cup. 

My grandfather of that relationship was only a buckle maker; a Spengler. He obviously could not afford the tea set. What nefarious legacy was the dead man leaving? To think that his most beloved grandson should sip from his cup and die. Why? Because someone wanted to go all Margaret Thatcher and refuse to wash a tea cup! 

It was unconscionable. 

Michelle was rather unperturbed as she crossed her legs and brought the china cup to her lips. My gag reflex gave me the shivers all the way down. She was going to bully me like a captain on the school yard again and demand that I do 100 pushups or tongue lashes like the other boys

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Since it was my birthday, Michelle decided to trip first. She had a summer dress in the cool of autumn. It was a smart pattern of red carriages over a white bolt of fabric which had been strudeled into a form fitting a very demure mannequin. Also, her breast peeked out like they were tired of being alone for so long. 

She arched her brow as she drank, “Wanna trip?”

Indubitably. 

It seemed like the height of fashion was to put away the staid vestments and curl around the cannabis and the scotch like a cat. There were middle-aged people still performing public services in the nude. The newspaper said that middle-aged people were actually cackling while they held up banks with very custom engraved gilt pistols. 

It was beyond banal how these upright people fell into childish customs: “Let’s see the world!”

Blah. 

Michelle held her head back like she had the violent shakes. I snapped my fingers near her eyes. (Always try to snap the fingers before getting a wooden spoon to stop a seizure or a thyroid condition). 

Penelope?

“Oh, Penelope?”

I rang the bell and waited for my live-in Ecuadorian maid to hear and understand that I desired her service. After this I clench my fingers in a relaxed grip and readied my posture to receive guests. 

Yes. One must be prepared for visitors, death and such at all times. I keep a copy of my testament and P.O.A. right next to the lapel on the inseam pocket. 

Penelope was obviously obsessed with the floors again. I exasperated silently. One might exasperate behind the hidden side of a handkerchief if their spouse is developing white foamy slobberage in a very uneasy like manner. It is not polite to ring the bell more than once every few minutes. 

I tell you if the laws were not so quaint about the investigation of spousal homicide I might have been able to watch Michelle die. They are very invasive, these police people. I am told that they will marvel at a stock portfolio and pretend to care about the futures of soy when these devils are actually calculating if you sold enough to buy an assassin.

They are very tricky, these forensic people. For this reason, a gentleman must offer assistance to a lady. 

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I waited till the last confounded moment. Then I sashayed from my bistro chair like a perfectly grand old banker, never ruled by the volatile markets but distinctly charismatic, hydrated, and the hair established in the bull position; ready to conquered the world over several patient years. 

“Yes Darling, that's quite enough.”

She stirred not. 

"What would the children say? To see you gaming with Tarot again. All those silly Rose Crucian rhythms you taught.”

I was about to kick a pebble because I recalled the impatience of youth, how this woman kept me waiting when we really could afford very little in the way of fashion and makeup and tours. When I calculate the time waiting for Michelle to be ready…

I dare say that I came around to where her body was shaking. She had been able to return the heirloom cup to the table without spilling. The Finishing School was quite successful.

Penelope wasn't in sight so …perhaps I leaned down to see if Michelle had given herself almond poisoning. She knows how I hate to be accused of homicide on my birthday, that I would prefer just to rest. 

The tea didn't smell like almonds at all. Police never believe a person when they see grand palaces and luxurious cars that a person would just want to die there on their own accord. In fact, I was showing the local Police Commissioner how many Americans in San Francisco trollied all the way to their Golden Gate Bridge just to have a last look at majesty. 

“You see, no one dives off the Bay Bridge because it is ugly. “

I showed him the statistics.

1: to 30,000.

And then he believed. 

Now this death might be a little more tricky. There were obviously two portions of tea. Why had I not joined my spouse in her victory?

Yes. This was very inconvenient. She might have taken a brisk stroll in the pond like Virginia Wolf. She might have jumped from the belfry on a spring day when the lilies were blooming. 

No, no. There’s always someone who can not wait for the equity to mature. These young people with young ideas. Everybody wants it now. 

Michelle stirred and I realized that she could save me months and months of paperwork. I swattled over to her ear, leaned down in a most undignified fashion and let my mustache peel out to feel her breath. 

She, yet, lived.

How marvelous. 

What a grand adventure. I had to ring Penelope for a separate reason because it felt like we should all celebrate with some 12 year old scotch. 

Ring-a-dinga ding

Yes. Yes. This wasn't a 25 year old scotch event but I think we could muster ample glee to appreciate the smokey undertones and to toast to Michelle’s health and Penelope’s ongoing hearing. Yes. 

Michelle began choking in her own foamy orifice. It seemed like the proper thing to do was to put a finger down her throat to coax the vespers out. Just like the Romans. 

I held my left index finger down her throat as I preambulated the morning cigar with some gentle kisses about the leaf casing. This was a really extraordinary cigar from the islands. It smelled like the fingers of Chester’s wife wearing a slight… "Yeas," a slight coconut and berry oil. 

What a fabulous woman!

I began the regiment of the morning cigar which is to essentially greet the bouquet with a gentle sniff. Please allow the aroma to penetrate the nose and disregard the quaffs from any gardens. Next, one addresses the cigar like a lover , spread on the marriage bed, the thinnest sheet stirring the blood pressure of a man of years and means. He means to collide with this beauty by the rudder of James. Every centimeter is a song of Solomon, every gentle caress is a chance for splinter but the man is remarkable and plunges into these dangers. 

I was all dreamy about the Dayton Habano when Michelle started another fit of gagging. Her stomach acids came up like a great fountain. There were mercurial colors, essence of pagonia, chunkies of gran fillet we had partook in the last eve (and honestly I didn't expect to see them again. The chef was off his mark. This is one of the five definitions of sin.)

“Michelle! My dear. Welcome back!”

I eagerly flung the remainders of her belly sauce off the tip of my left index finger. 

“Was it a very good trip?”

Michelle looked disappointed that I had not joined her on a therapeutic adventure. I know that she envisioned her Irish Boy again. I could see the affirmation of passion in her eyes. 

Even though it was _my_ birthday, I was glad that she was happy. 

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Penelope?