F is for First
Word
“George, dear, do you know what time
they’re coming?” She asked over the noise of the vacuum cleaner.
Without lowering the paper he moved his
pipe to the other side of his mouth and lifted his feet.
She wound up the vacuum cleaner cord.
“Would you just put this away for me?”
He folded his paper and laid it on
the end table.
She straightened the magazines on
the coffee table. “Don’t leave that there. Put it in the trash. There’ll be
another in the morning.” She plumped the throw pillows. “George, what are you
doing?”
He nodded toward the vacuum cleaner
and opened the coat closet.
“No, dear. It goes down the hall.”
A timer went off in the kitchen.
“Dear, would you open this window for me?”
She called after him. “The whole house smells of that pipe.”
They passed in the hallway.
“Don’t wear your hat in the house,
please.”
He put his hat in the coat closet and
raised the window. The cobbler did smell good.
“I don’t know Madge’s new husband very
well. Do you think he likes rhubarb and strawberry?” She handed him the waste
basket to empty. “Oh, you don’t know, do you? You haven’t met the man yet.”
He took the basket and headed for the
garage. He heard dishes clinking. She would be putting the coffee service on
the sideboard.
“George,” she called. “When you get
through with that, would you see that there’s plenty of room in the drive for
them to park?”
He brought the waste basket back in.
“Thank you, dear,” she said, setting the
cobbler out to cool. “They’ll be here soon. Don’t you think you should change that
jacket? Your new gray cardigan would look nice.”
He examined the now empty bowl of his
pipe, picked up his tobacco pouch and lighter, and put them all into the breast
pocket of his khaki jacket.
“I think he likes football,” she said. “You
might talk about that.”
He went to the coat closet and got his
hat.
“George?”
He bent down and kissed the top of
her head.
“George, where are you going?”
“Fishing,” he said.
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