A Week in the Life ...

What’s on my mind? Generosity’s name is Darryl, our friend of many years. 

When Darryl couldn’t wait to give Himself and me our holiday gifts, I knew they had to be something special. Jumping up and down with excitement, I felt certain magnanimous Darryl was about to give me the 1967 Volkwagen camper I’ve wanted for 52 years. 

He didn’t. Instead, Darryl gave me a bottle of Italian seasoning salt, which is still a pretty good gift, especially for a talented Italian speaker such as myself. All modesty aside, words such as “pizza,” “biscotti,” and “gelato” regularly roll off my tongue. 

And Himself ...? Darryl gave him a (gen-u-wine) “piece of eight” Darryl bought on eBay. The seller’s assurance that a (gen-u-wine) pirate had once owned it clinched the sale.

As well as being a cunning linguist, I’m the polite type who always sends thank you notes. Honesty being the best policy, my note started with happy thanks, but soon soured. Little did I know the horrors that awaited, or that I’d be sending Darryl another note, and another, and another ... 

Monday, 7:00 am 

Dear Darryl:

The seasoning salt is delicious! I used it to flavor chicken soup. Himself is so excited about his “piece of eight” that he plans to buy the other seven pieces on eBay. We’ll need to mortgage the house to do this. You have ruined our lives.

Love, Nicole 

Tuesday, 8:00 am

Dear Darryl:

Himself woke up with pink eye and I’m seeing red. He’s made himself a leather eye patch he plans to wear forever. I blame you. 

Love, Nicole

Wednesday, 9:00 am

Dear Darryl:

Ever since you gave Himself that wretched piece of eight, he’s been telling me to “Avast, Matey!” The dictionary says this means “Stop, young man!” I think Himself is bisexual. This is your fault.

Love, Nicole 

Thursday, 10 am

Dear Darryl:

Himself has started to wear one of my gold hoop earrings. He says he wants to grow his hair into a ponytail tied with a ribbon. I don’t think he’s bisexual, anymore. I think he’s gay. Because of you, I am broken-hearted.

Love, Nicole

Friday, 11 am 

Dear Darryl:

You know the phrase “I’d cut off my right arm for a friend”? Himself thinks so highly of you - especially since you gave him that damned piece of eight - that he wants to cut off his right leg. If he does that, he won’t have a peg leg to stand on when I divorce him. You did this.

Love, Nicole

Saturday, 12 pm

Dear Darryl:

Himself has bought a parrot. It’s sitting on his shoulder as we speak. I’m an animal lover, but the thing poops all over the kitchen. There are feathers that have never met a chicken in my chicken soup. By giving Himself that #$@! piece of eight, you encouraged him to do this. You are my sworn enemy.

Love and curses, Nicole

Sunday, 1 pm 

Dear Darryl:

Problem solved! I used the piece of eight to buy a plank at Lowe’s. I made Himself and his bleeping bird walk it. Hey, big guy! Want to drop over for lunch? I’ve got homemade chicken soup! All I need to do is strain out a few feathers.

Love, Nicole

©  Nicole Parton, 2019