The soldier and I…

“Yeah, you made us get that picture, the one where we dressed up in the old timey clothes. The one where you’re a soldier and you made me dress up like your wife.”

“Well I wanted you to be my wife.”

“Yeah, I know. But I wanted to be a saloon girl! I wanted to wear a garter and be sexy and lay across you or something. I wanted my leg up in some pose but nooooooooooo. You wanted me to put on wife clothes and be matronly.”

“Well, P.”

“It’s okay. That was real important to you, do you remember? You badly wanted the picture. And you wanted it the way you wanted it, me as your wife and no saloon girl so I had to do it because you practically begged me. Well not begged me, but you asked real nice if I would please, please, please be your wife in the picture, in between insisting and ordering and imploring it be the way you wanted it so what could I do? It was so important to you I just didn’t see how I could say no. So there I am, 17 years old, wearing 40 pounds of clothing. You made us not smile too. This is serious, Els! And I had PMS on top of that. I was bloated under all those clothes but whatever. You got your picture so I’m glad you like it. Or I have the picture, I mean. And I’ve held on to it my whole life. It’s been my proof you existed along with the others I have, there we are. See, I knew this guy, here’s his picture. But he married someone else and then he died. It was a mistake, justice was not served. It came out wrong, the whole thing was an error in life that just happened.”

Is there something in your life that you think is just jacked? What?

I’d post the pic but he does not want to be seen and to crop us apart would be out of the question… sacrilege.