Apparently, I’ve committed a mortal sin. I have, (according to my husband of thirty-six years) … BOYFRIENDS! I’m seventy-two. II guess I should be flattered. But it’s just not true, so now I’m simply … shattered. Apparently, I’m not a worthy wife. I don’t see my life as being glued to his side, munching apple fritters, getting fat, watching interminable re-runs of Star Trek … the old one (God help us).
Enough of that! I’m seventy-two. That much is true. But … boyfriends? Who KNEW?
***
What would trusty Captain Kirk do?
He’d call on Spock, his rock of truth. (He cannot tell a lie. Nor can I).
Boyfriends? That’s news to me. All that rage and jealousy
has fried your brain. You’re insane!
But if you insist on being pissed
(such paranoid delusion),
let’s summon Spock, that sixties schlock,
and clear up your confusion.
You think of us as ‘symbiosis’.
Spock says that’s not right.
He says you’re more like Trichinosis.
Yes, that’s right – a parasite.
You suck me dry, give nothing back,
and no, you do not own me.
Your TV’d brain is out of whack.
You’ve never even known me.
So, goodbye Kirk and goodbye Spock
I’ve turned off my TV.
I can rock around the clock!
I’m seventy-two! I’m ME!
***
Apparently, I committed a mortal sin
by letting those imaginary? Boyfriends? In?
A wife shouldn’t be a CONJOINED TWIN.
I’m seventy-two! YAHOO! LET LIFE BEGIN!
And now, I own myself. I’m free
to sing and dance all night!
And as for those mythical boyfriends?
Well … the line forms to the right!
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