Text Messages Between the Long Betrothed Who Are In the Same Domicile, On Different Floors

Wife: My beloved, when next you descend the staircase can you bring with you my shawl? I have caught a bit of chill.

Husband: Certainly my love. I am just watching the final minutes of the hockey game. 

Wife: Have they a chance at the Cup Stanley this season?

Husband: Alas, that is unlikely, but this game is quite the volley. I’ll alight the stairs posthaste. 

(7 minutes pass)

Wife: My dearest, I grow colder. What is the status of the game? 

Husband: It went over its scheduled time. I will be just a few minutes more. What occupies you so on that floor of our domicile?

Wife: I am deep in the pages of my novel. I can not pull myself away from the character blooming in my mind, lest I lose momentum.

Husband: Of course. The competition is a power play at the moment, but I shall return to you my love, shawl in hand, shortly.

(4 minutes pass)

Husband: What shawl is it you desire?

Wife: The indigo one carried here by my ancestors to bring comfort upon these cold, cruel shores.

(5 minutes)

Husband: I cannot locate that particular one. There’s one on the chair that says Gap, is that a suitable substitute?

Wife: I was hoping the inspiration I draw from the weave of our homeland would inspire me, but ya, whatever the Gap is fine.

Husband: My love, the game continues, and the level of play is unprecedented this season. This may be a turning point for them. They might coalesce as a team today and rally together toward the Cup Stanley.

Wife: I grow so chilled that my fingers can barely thump upon the MacBook, but I am pleased they shall reclaim the glory of the days of Orr.

Husband: Did you see he’s MAGA? So disappointing

Wife: Right? Ugh.

(5 minutes pass)

Wife: I hear patter above, is that you preparing to return to me?

Husband: No. Maybe it is our offspring? Can she come get this sweater and bring it down? 

Wife: Why can’t you? 

Husband: Now they are replaying the final game of the 2004 World Series.

Wife: Is that when Dave Roberts stole all those bases? That was awesome. However, my love, we’ve known the outcome for 18 years and the scholars developed a way to pause the television.

Husband: Where are the kids?

Wife: Let me look upon the location finder on our timekeeper, telegrapher, portrait taker, talker hand machine to ascertain their whereabouts. Alas, they are in town square, hectares away. Did they tell you they were departing?

Husband: Oh yep. I forgot. I’ll throw your sweater down the stairs when I go to the water closet.

Wife: Well, I am rather flush now due to the nature of this conversation. The shawl is no longer necessary. This exchange has left me quite heated, and potentially derailed my novel writing.

Husband: My love, when first you began this novel, long before the days of Dave Roberts with this team I now rewatch, you always required something to make writing flow. Perhaps the problem is not the shawl, or our loving missives over the Apple device at all?

Wife: Oh my god. Are you friggen kidding me? Obviously! This is freaking hard. And I lost the floppy disk that had like the best draft when moved the second time, and I have no idea where the thumb drive is!  I started another draft because this place is full of everyone’s crap! All I wanted was for you to bring a sweater when you came back down, but no, you gotta make sure they still win the World Series 18 years after the fact.

Husband:  I’m only up here because we decided not to have a TV in the living room so we could have more peaceful time as a family.

Wife: And now we all go into separate rooms to watch TV! That’s peaceful. Yay! We did it. 

Husband: I do not feel peace at this moment.

Wife: While I lament that, I have not felt peace in decades. I am a writer without a finished story, a mother of characters unborn, a teller of tales untold. The conditions in which I labor to release my tale make it impossible to complete my creative task. I may weep.

Husband: Do you want to order out?

Wife: While my nerves are rattled, and feelings frothed, yes, a large submarine of eggplant parm from my favorite purveyor will provide a welcome balm. Thank you.

Husband: Fine, let me look at the menu there. I was thinking seafood, but okay.

Wife: I detest the contents of the sea as foodstuffs, as you well know.

Husband: Oh, I know. I found the shawl. I was lying on it. I’ll be right down.

Wife: I sincerely hope so, my love. I sincerely hope so. 

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