It was just another Halloween.
Weird as shit.
First, the weather was biblical. We had storms all day
and, other than our house, there was no power on the street.
Second, Stanley was on for the evening but had an
appointment and so was late getting there.
He texted me to order a pizza for them to have before hitting the streets.
It came before he showed and they were eating when he got there.
I was doing school laundry, (Jumping Bean had ‘fallen’ in a puddle
and had mud all over her school cardi that she needed for today)
and calling out spelling words to Merlot who was, at the 11th hour, still spelling
The first thing he did was head toward was his beer kegerator in the garage.
Nice to know, some things never change.
I rolled my eyes and whispered a “Thank you Jesus” that
I don’t have to deal with that every night anymore.
I helped the little girls get ready in their costumes and was packing to go
when The Boy said, “Mom, you leaving?”
Well, as it turns out, he was anxious (not that he would admit it)
to be here and hand out candy alone with all the power out on the street.
It took me a minute for my super spidey sense to realize the reason for the question.
Stanley said, “You are welcome to stay and help him.”
Me, “Okay, I’ll leave when you guys get back.”
So, off they trudge into the pitch dark night and The Boy and I settled
on the sofa to deal with the Trick or Treaters and eat mini Almond Joys.
The dog spazzes out every time the doorbell rang.
What is it with dogs and doorbells?
It’s just a doorbell you dumb dog!
The doorbell rang over and over and she spazzed every time.
The boy and I jump up and I get the dog and he gets the candy bowl
And we head to the door.
There was a full grown man standing there, no kids.
I say, “Don’t open the door” to The Boy because
that ain’t right.
I yell out through the glass,
“Aren’t you a little old to be trick or treating?”
“I’m just bringing some beer by for Stanley!”
Well, of course you are.
Because that is just what every Beer Monkey needs,
I open the door and he’s looking me up and down.
I’m thinking, “Take a picture it will last longer!” and
then realize that he is getting a good look at Stanley’s ex.
Well, damn, I hope my lipstick had staying power.
I haven’t met his new homebrew friends.
I take the beer and roll my eyes and whisper another
“Thank you Jesus” that I don’t have to deal with that every night.
Finally they get back, I’m finishing the laundry, and I grab my stuff and start to go.
Stanley heads to the garage to fill his glass up again
and we walk out, me with my rolling bag and him with his empty glass.
He says, “Bye, _____”.
It brought me up short.
He used a nickname for me that I don’t think he has
called me at all since we got divorced.
I got in the car and felt weird.
Sad again about my marriage.
When will that ever end?
Al, who was texting me later, said that it was just the pattern.
He said that he notices that when Stanley and I have moments
of regular domesticity in the nest that I have a little crash.
Then I said, “Thank you, Jesus.”
Because I have a man in my life that is observant of things
other than beer and cares so much about my happiness
that he notices things that bring me down.
I really ought to do something nice for him.