Goose

We had the same spring snow that Denver and KC had. It inspired some inventive snowmen in our subdivision: a snowman holding an Easter basket, a snowman with bunny ears. Our cars were trapped by the foot of snow. Monday morning I was shoveling the smallest path possible to the street when a neighbor came by with a snowblower. Gary came out of the house in time to tell the neighbor HOW to SNOWBLOW. No, hon. This stranger is doing us a favor. Don’t tell people how to do you a favor.

Then of course Gary wanted to pay the neighbor, which I talked him out of. It’s as if he doesn’t know how to say “Thank you.”

Because he only allowed the neighbor to snow blow one driveway, I had to take him to work the next three days. On one of those days I spotted a goose. At first glance it seemed to be perched nobly on a hill of snow, but then on closer inspection I saw this goose was disgusted. He slowly picked up a webbed foot, placed it on the snow, then shifted his weight onto the foot, which then “pop!” broke through the ice crust and sank a half inch into the snow. You could hear him sigh. Then he daintily picked up the other foot, positioned it, shifted his weight, “pop,” damnit. If his goose beak could have curled with distaste it would have. Eventually he made it to the street, where he shook his tail.

I feel like the goose tonight. I’m making no progress, and my attempts are humiliating. Gary’s been working late and I’m falling into the traps that plagued me when we were first married. I wait for him. What I should do is occupy myself with a project, something he would interrupt if he was here. I should flap my wings instead of picking my way along in mild disgust.

You know, that clinches it. I’m organizing the garage. He’ll hate that as much as when I organized the basement, but it’s better than spite drinking or waiting dinner on him until … what time is it? 12:15 am.