Ever get one of Jane’s prompts that is perfectly suited to the day at hand? I’m spending the weekend with one of the most annoying, persnickety people I’ve ever known. How I got roped into spending a weekend at Asheville, North Carolina with Arnold Schmaetzle, I don’t know.
No, I do know. I invited him. It was one of those moments where I forgot how he complained about the air in the hotel room being too cold (unless it was too warm), the color of the walls being too mauve (just what is mauve, anyway), and the food at the restaurant too stale (except when it was too soggy). And that doesn’t even include comments on my appearance – Walter, what’s with the nose hairs? Walter, what’s the little red spot on your forehead? Walter, you’re not wearing that shirt with those jeans? And Walter, don’t you think you should shower before we go out to eat?
Calgon, take me away. Lying here in the bed, with Arnold beside me, I just wonder how I ever made it through those fifteen years before we split up. When was it – oh, yes, twelve years ago. Hard to imagine, living with Arnold Schmaetzle. At least he didn’t cheat or drink – unlike Marshall, who made a career out of bedding every available man in Atlanta, and guzzling down bottle of vodka after bottle of vodka.
“Walter, where’s the toothpaste? Why’d you get such crappy toothpaste?”
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