The redhead is upset with me this evening.  She wanted to come over and watch the FOX Sunday night lineup and I told her to stay home.  Fifteen days ago she found a baby blue jay on the sidewalk outside my house.  My advice was to leave it behind, birds are often pushed from nests and abandoned for reasons we don’t understand.  Instead she borrowed some of my Tupperware and a shoebox from my last pair of New Balance and now she owns a portly blue jay, which lollygags all day and still shows no desire to feed itself or fly.  It walks around her backyard and demands to be fed.  She takes it to work and on the road but she isn’t bringing it back here.  I rent.  For another two months I rent and I signed a lease almost two years ago and agreed there would be no pets inside my home.  My signature is my oath and I don’t intend to violate my agreement. 

When and if the bird flies, the redhead is welcome back at my leased home.  Of all the luck, her bird is a Democrat!  This could take some time.  I did spend Sunday afternoon at her house, where I mowed the grass.  Two weeks had passed since I last started the lawnmower and for what little growth there was I may have waited another two weeks.  There was a time in the spring when the grass needed cutting twice a week and our long drought had ended.  Now it has barely rained for 3 weeks and the corn, which was 6 feet high on the Fourth of July, hasn’t grown much since.  Two days ago the weatherman on WBAL-TV said the drought was a thing of the past but now we’re quickly losing what we gained. 

When I finished trimming the grass we spent a couple of hours talking.  We’ve known each other for well over a year and we’ve been an “item” for 8 months.  We’re still planning a summer 2010 wedding.  We’re also talking about what life will be like following the event. 

I’ve been here before.  Or I should say I was married once before but the last time around there wasn’t much negotiation or I didn’t think to negotiate before the event.  On Saturdays I would mow the grass and then go for a walk, grab the paper and a cigar, and smoke while walking home and reading.  The cigar infraction would cause me grief for most of the rest of the coming week.  While I gave up all tobacco ten years ago as a grown man if I choose to smoke a cigar I don’t need someone policing my choices. 

Now if I was puffing on a crack pipe I could see why someone would be upset.  If I was puffing on a crack pipe I should be arrested and ordered into rehabilitation.  If I was a crack head and someone married me then they should also know before signing a contract the other party isn’t likely reliable.  As I wouldn’t know what a crack pipe looks like I think this is hypothetical.  Can I also say we all agree an occasional cigar is pretty harmless when compared with crack?  But then I no longer even smoke cigars. 

I’ve got news for any ladies reading this.  When a man reaches the age of 47, please disabuse yourselves of any delusions you are going to change him for the better. 

Having spent many years of my younger life as a barfly let me say no other barfly ever insisted on instructing me what to eat, drink, smoke or wear.  The tavern is the great libertarian water hole.  As long as you don’t get violent, spill your drink or wet on the floor there isn’t anyone telling you how it’s going to be in the future.  Heck, everyone just moans about the past.  The only orders you are compelled to follow are lights out. 

I like the redhead but let me offer this; a wife would be fine but a warden isn’t on my list.  Marriage and leases that mimic prison compel me to go over the wall.

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