He Said, She Said

The To Do List

11PM @ the Lighthouse. Morgan is sitting up in bed, typing out a paper for her medical anthropology class on her laptop. Beside her is Flame, the fat orange cat. He’s laying Sphinx like facing the foot of the wood and wrought iron bed, inscrutably staring with feline attentiveness at one of the invisible house fairies napping atop Lady Lillith’s altar. Weyland comes in, wearing mismatched socks and plaid pajama bottoms. His tee shirt says BURNED OUT BUT STILL SMOKIN’.

Morgan (without looking up): Thought I told you to toss that shirt.

Weyland: What shirt?

Morgan (still typing): The one you’re wearing, you idiot.

Weyland (looks down at himself): Oh. (Shrugs.) Wasn’t on today’s To Do list, hon.

Morgan: You need a list to remember what clothes you have on?

Weyland (paging through a tiny spiral notebook): Doesn’t everybody?

Morgan: Strangely, no.

Weyland (putting a yellowed paperback on the bookshelf): And now I can check off The Girl in the Plain Brown Wrapper.

Morgan: I knew there was somebody else.

Weyland (nods): T. McGee. We’ve been tight since I was in the Air Force.

Morgan: So why are you still reading the series if you started back in the 20th century?

Weyland: I do ’em over & over again. They’re that good.

Morgan: Wish you’d show that much interest in helping around the house.

Weyland: Bite your pretty tongue, impetuous ingrate. Half of these check offs are– (squints at notebook) –laundry, dishes, trash and litter boxes.

Flame and Morgan look at each other. Even the cat seems impressed.

Morgan: Maybe I’ll keep you after all.

Weyland: You’d be a fool not to, babe. With this list handy, I’ll never forget anything again.

(Unheard by all save Flame, the little house fairy laughs until she rolls off the altar.)

Morgan: Uh huh. C’mon, Harry Lorayne, it’s past our bedtime.

Weyland: Okay.

Wey hops into bed and under the covers. They both check their respective alarm clocks, then Morgan turns out the light.

Weyland: Oops.

Morgan: Huh?

Weyland: I forgot to lay out my clothes for work tomorrow.

He turns on his red lamp, hops up and scurries about, rummaging through drawers and the closet. Finally he jumps back into bed.

Weyland: Whew. Glad I remembered that.

Morgan (sleepily): Me too, honey. Can we go to sleep now?

Weyland: You betcha.

Lights out.

Weyland: D*mmit.

Morgan: You’re kidding, right?

Weyland: I have to say my prayers!

He hops up and a feline yowl sounds loudly as Flame makes a noisy departure.

Morgan: What did you do to the cat?

Weyland (turning on the red light): Lo siento, ole buddy. Didn’t see you down there.

Morgan buries her head under the pillow while Wey stands at both altars, ringing bells and mumbling. Then he comes back to bed.

Weyland: Wow, that was a close one! Good thing it was on the list.

Morgan: I’m so proud. Good night.

Weyland: Night, Babe.

Lights out.

Weyland: Oh, sh*t.

Morgan: I’m going to kill you.

Weyland: We forgot to have sex.

Morgan: Touch me and I’ll scream.

Weyland: But honey, the list–

Morgan: Forget your list! The playground is closed for the evening!

Weyland: D*amn….

Wey begins to snore. Morgan wraps herself around him, puts her head on his shoulder, and goes to sleep.


author bio:

Weyland Smith lives in Mercer County New Jersey with the bright and beautiful Morgan, her two children, and their cats & familiars Flame and Macavity. They may be reached at [email protected] Any and all rumors that Weyland and New Jersey governor John Corzine were twins who were separated at birth are completely bogus–Wey’s a Republican. (And a poor Republican, at that! Sheesh…)