So, the old man asked the young redhead, how was your day?
His wife had left a trail of fatigue from her car, her sigh audible to the dog inside the house. He held the door and she lifted her recently glossed lips and gave him a minty fresh kiss. She liked to arrive home that way. I’ll tell you later, she told him.
Would you like a drink? Sure would, but I’ll like to get out of these clothes first. When the old man was a young man, even just not this old, that phrase would have got his attention. But he knew this time wasn’t gonna be one of those moments when the mood turned romantic. For either of them.
Later she told him.
You love those old Ed Sullivan shows. Well, I’m the plate spinner and I can’t ever drop a plate. Ever.
You can’t privatize and cut dozens of jobs – lose some of your best people – and increase the workload for those who remain, while suppressing wages and taking a bigger piece for yourself and expect all the work to get done. Just not going to happen. No frickin’ way. I am a hospital administrator, not a miracle worker.
Of course, things get ugly sometimes, and suddenly I’m supposed to be Siegfried & Roy.
You want to be Siegfried, the old man told her. Roy got eaten.
Another drink? I got Chinese.