“I need companionship Agnes. My lovelife stinks.”
“You have the dog”, replied Agnes crunching on Fritos.
“He went to look for the mister..he's gone", said Mrs H.
“I hope this isn’t getting to be a habit with you."
Mrs H had considered it - that she was losing an awful lot of important things in her life. But no, it wasn’t she that lost Mr H. It was Mr H who had gone and lost himself.
One day he called her saying he had taken a wrong exit and he'd be home late and that was it - never heard another word from him.
Gone. Sucked up into the universe. Maybe kidnapped by a UFO. No had a clue. It occurred to her one morning that their longevity may have been because they never went anywhere with or without the other one and they had hadn't thought to buy the GPS that HSN was selling for 3 payments of $33.33 on Flexpay.
But Foolish the dog, he was another story. About a week after Mr H vanished from the face of the earth, Foolish took to pining all the live long day, big flopping here, noisy flopping there, hounddog whining and pining and sighing and turning up his very big nose at food, even. Who had ever heard of such a thing? A big hound that wouldn’t eat?
One day he walked to the gate and barked to be let out. As she had done a hundred times before Mrs H opened it and Foolish, stepping through did something odd: he stopped and lifted his big wet nose to the breeze. Sniffing here. Stop. Sniffing there. Then STOP - dead in his tracks he lifts his paw up like some kind of pointer and freezes! Then he quickly trots off down the road without even a glance over his shoulder at her. Damned dog never came back.
That morning she and Agnes had decided a respectable amount of time had passed since the mysterious disappearance of Mr H and it was time for Mrs H to be modern and healthy and proactive and seek out a little male companionship for herself. Why should only dental hygienists and sales girls have love lives? Mrs H was still skirting her prime years according to all the magazines!
So tonight she was to going to one of the nicer singles joints in town, The Garden of Eden, a very very very neon green tropical oasis on the edge of a mostly abandoned strip mall right smack dab in the middle of town.
Sipping her Cherry Coke Zero through a straw so as not to muss her lipstick, a rather giddy Mrs H turns this way and that, striking poses in front of a mirror that stops just at the waist, gazing at herself provocatively, swirling her skirt and practicing dance moves and hip thrusts.
I look pretty snazzy, she is thinking, ignoring the recent natural disaster that was bunched up around her middle, thanks to her recent deep forays into the world of Pillsbury, Hostess Ho Hos and Tombstone Pizza. Mrs H felt this could easily be explained to any reasonable person. Her lumpiness was due to 1) shock from the sudden loss of a navigationally challenged husband, 2) her abandonment by an ingrate hound, and 3) and her rebellious body parts.
But now Mrs H was not dwelling on the negatives as she strained to see how the hem looked against her hopefully still shapely legs. But the mirror wasn’t talking and it was probably for the best anyway. If God had wanted her to know what she looked like below the waist, he would have put her eyes a whole lot lower or gave her a bigger mirror.
Turning to the side to see a waist profiled which - if she sucked in her breath long enough - might suggest an indentation somewhere, she examined and then quickly exhaled in order to keep from becoming too dizzy. Last check on the makeup, the hand (with a mind of it's own) had applied the ultra thick black lash lengthening mascara with hardly a blob - well nothing too noticeable. Anything particularly blobby, the hand had deftly rubbed into the lids, eliminating the need for eyeliner, which she was never much good at anyway, even in her disco queen years.
Back then on party nights about the only eyelineing she could successfully do was the heavy duty Sophia Loren eyeline, a thick black line, under and around and nearly up to her eyebrows, the entire sultry black magilla slanting upwards towards the heavens above her poofy tousled hair, all of her promising a world of hot sexy trouble to any and all in her opulently fleshly presence.
Back in the day Mrs H was quite the dish! She had a number of boyfriends back then, Mr H was her best and favorite one, coveting and "hustling" her. And life was a whirling bowl of dancing cherries.
She looked at herself one last time, reapplied her lipstick, blotting her "Pretty In Pink" lips on a tissue. Finally satisfied she was booty delicious or something like that, she thought this is it! blowing herself a kiss in the mirror.
It was time to let the magic happen! And with a swirl and a swish and happy hands, she was off to seek new vistas!