Tuesday 200 — #71

I reckoned something was fishy when she told me her new boyfriend’s name was Coy.

“Like the carp?” I asked, thinking there was something a little slippery about him, not to mention his predilection for the fake ‘n’ bake had left him a shade lighter than what we’d branded “Oompa Loompa Orange.”

“No,” she said, her forehead furrowing into a mixture of “you’re so stupid” and “what did I ever see in you” — a look I’d become more than used to during our second year of couple’s counseling. “He’s Native American, his great-great grandfather was spiritual leader of their tribe.”

“And it’s a safe bet to say everybody in your tribe is taken with spirits.” I said. “Still, is that any reason for those pants?” She was wearing a pair of baggy, sand-colored suede trousers that hung about four inches below her knees, hemmed with another six inches of fringe. Something that Marie Osmond might have worn back in the Seventies, singing to Donny that she was a little bit Injun. “When did Lane Bryant release their ‘Colors of the Wind’ collection?”

She instructed me to procreate with myself, something else I’d gotten used to during couple’s counseling.

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