“Who is she, this Susannah?”
She isn’t anyone. She’s made up.
“You’ve based her on someone… who?”
She’s just a composite of every talk show host, game show-er, blond TV personality. Turn on the TV and you’ll see her on every channel.
“Why are you holding her hand in Chinatown?”
Well that’s not me – it’s just me writing in first person. I like to write first person; I can omit all of the details that omnisciency requires. It’s not me.
“Hmm.”
Look, if you want, we can just leave that story where it is. I haven’t figured everything out yet.
The conversation is happening last night. We had just seen the movie Her and were sitting in the lounge at the Stone Barn hoping for a seat at the bar. Our first time there – an extraordinary place – I was drinking a scotch concoction that included something almond and cinnamon and wheat grass and a few other things that you couldn’t imagine would taste so good. I think there was triple sec in there. The fire was going and people waiting for tables were dressed very well. Except me in jeans and a sweater – we hadn’t planned on popping in but here we were. A fire warmed the room.
My wife has the most delicious and irrational jealousies because everyone knows I married up. I’m the lucky one in this relationship. My blog isn’t a confessional, although wouldn’t that be something?
“No. I want to know if you’re going to sleep with her.”
Well, it isn’t me, and we can assume that the two characters are intimate.
“I knew it!”
If you want, I’ll just write about something else. I have something like three readers…
“Well, no… Why is the bag so expensive?”
You’d pay that much for a bag like that wouldn’t you? Maybe more, right?
She nods and I can see she’d really like a bag like that. SFW’s carrying needs are based on hers of course.
“Where does everything go and why can’t you put electronics in there? Is it a black hole or some kind of a portal?”
I haven’t worked it all out. However she’s impressed me with the sci-fi terminology (she doesn’t think much of the genre).
About this time I’m thinking we should give up on getting seated at the bar and go eat somewhere else when a polite man in a suit tells us that it will just be a few more minutes.
Soon they transport our drinks to the bar and put little menu booklets in front of us. The couple to our left enthusiastically explain how things work – they’re on the foraging menu and have been there three hours already. I am salivating and my wife is smiling. We have for the evening left Susannah Fontaine-Williams in Chinatown holding the extra-dimensional bag. There’s no way I’d ever bring her to a place like this anyway…
Deficio Scriptor 
That is so cool…………… my wife does similar things with my stories [although she doesn’t get jealous….. and if you could see me you would know why] she does not always like my endings…….. a certain amount of pressure has been brought to bare. I have read her both parts of this and she laughed a lot [so did I].
Terry
P.S. I married ‘up’ as well and I’ve waited for more than 40 years for her to get sick of me.
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Terry – thanks as always for reading… My one and only despises ambiguous endings and can apply the full court press… which might explain why I simply won’t finish things!
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This is excellent. I have the same trouble sometimes when her Ladyship reads my Blog or book( s ) , one shortly to be published, along the lines of “So that’s what you really think of me” or “Who are you really writing about” etc. I find a blank stare is my best response, although, as in your case, she has no need to worry, and knows that apart from when she reads my words.
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Peter – I’m glad you commented – it gave me a chance to discover your blog, which I’m enjoying reading…
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You’re a trophy husband at heart
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