More Exotic Drawings Than Gary Baseman’s Notebook

Peg just knew that Wyndam was going to be upset when he got home. They had a big fight at breakfast over her inability to make poached eggs.  She countered with how he always had to call his mother for advice over the tiniest question.  (Was there really a noticeable difference between snow shovels?) When he left for work he slammed the closet, front and car doors in quick succession. Peg slung the frying pan and its eggy mess into the sink and cried as if her life was an onion.

Later, she wished she had been nicer to him when he called at lunch.  Instead she ripped open an old scar by bringing up last Thanksgiving at his mother’s.  He hung up on her. That’s when she decided to have a tiny swig of the cooking sherry.

Peg was pretty clear about the first three sips that were immediately followed by a twelve ounce tumbler with Koko the Clown on it.  She even vaguely recalled the wave of wanderlust that washed over her.  And the  call to the cab company.  The taxi took her to the wharf.

Somehow, once there she became convinced that a nice bunch of longshoreman understood and appreciated women way more than her husband ever had.  But she certainly didn’t remember going into a tattoo parlor.

“Peggy-Bear, I’m home.”