Just another old fashioned love song


(From Suburban Misfits)



It’s insane around here without you.

In 30 years of being married to you, I’ve never felt so apart – or helpless.

And you know I’m not a helpless woman.

And I’m more than a little tempted to throw the three bums out for hurting you.

Of course, I know it wasn’t totally their fault.

Moving furniture -- especially a refrigerator that heavy – up and down stairs is dangerous business.

But you know as well as I do those three are a careless lot.

And if you only knew what they’ve been up to since you left.

No, they did not burn down our apartment complex – though I would not put that passed them.

Maybe I never noticed how strange they were until after they hurt you and I took a vow to watch them more carefully.

God knows what they do behind closed doors in their own apartment.

Just the other night I heard the strangest commotion coming from their rooms. I would call it music except it sounded more like someone banging on pots and pans. It went on for hours until I banged on the wall.

When I saw them outside the next day, I warned them against repeating the performance, telling them this is no discothèque.

They laughed, but agreed to stay quiet, which I admit they did. Too quiet.

I thought the three of them had died on me, and stayed up the whole night waiting to hear one of them breathe.

I was a little relieved when I heard female giggles.

Perhaps I should have stopped that, too.

But what excuse did I have to pound on their door? How was I to know that one of the girls they brought up into their chamber of horrors was our daughter, Beth?

Once I found out later, I put my foot down and forbade her to leave her room. I knew better than to try and scold those three men.

But I warned them. No more women. No more loud music or I would put them out on the street.

I told them we ran a respectable establishment.

And I thought they understood.

At least they didn’t laugh at me.

So I was that much more surprised when I was shaken out of bed that night, not by women giggling or banging on pots, but the wail of drunken voices rising up from the car port under my window.

And there they were, as drunken as anyone I’ve ever see, swaying back and forth, holding each other up, belting out an old love song I knew from the radio as a young girl.

It was the silliest thing I ever saw and I told them as much.

Who knows if the would remember anything when they sober up.

But I left a tray outside their door with coffee and aspirin.

I know they’ll need when they wake up.

Hurry and get better. The next time you’ll have to deal with them.


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