The Housewife Thing

Act 1 scene 1:

Setting: Newlywed abode in Arni; nice place with a fishing canoe out back, mysterious niches hanging out of the walls, and a flowerpots in front.

There are banners in the most vile shades of brown and blue imaginable saying 'con . . gra . . tu.ion . . .Serg. . . an. . .id!' because they were exiled from the house by a tack- hating wife. (It's a worthy speculation that her vision of tackiness was what drove her from the village, actually. The burlap brown and fish-vomit blue she abhors are Arni's state colors. In other words, they are everywhere.)

Happy Anniversary, Kid and Serge. It's been a very pleasant way to spend 2 years, watching your relationship grow. And please remind Kid, loveable part of our lives she has become and all, that the plants she got for a wedding gift (yes, also 2 years ago.) have by now become an uncontrollable weed thicket. If we look at last week's tallies, they have been credited for eating 12 of the local youth. (Unless there's another reason why teenagers regularly disappear when they venture near your house. The authorities are currently on standby to lend a sympathetic ear to anything you might want to discuss with them. Just a courteous chat.) Anyways, please request her to either finally take them inside, or make an appointment with the village shaman to exorcise any lost souls stuck in the branches.

Hello, man and wife, Kid and Serge? Someone's at the door . . . you want to wake up?

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I don't consider myself a functioning part of society, so don't blame me when I blanked out during an explanation of the prenup. I was "sure mate!" this and "bugger, that sounds good. . ." that, initial here, (lookit, the thief knows how to sign her name!) handshakes to Serge's folks (Folk. Old Lady. Should not be calling my mother-in-law that.) and it's off to a naughty premarital cuddle with Serge. I missed some of the fine print. . . and the glaring big spots that said "THOU SHALL NOT FORSAKE THY HUSBAND" or something to that ominous, holy-command effect judging by horror I've invoked. . . eh heh, holy wrath, strike me dead with thine lightening!

Actually, I got a sudsy equivalent (of holy wrath, I mean) from our neighbor, who's big on noses. (Brown-noser, when she's with Serge. . . give yer bubbleheaded compliments to yer own man, won't ya! Nosy when she's lookin for bad spots in our marriage . . . 'Nose' everything damned thing about relationships in the world. . .)

So I go out once in a while to provide for the family, (um, spouse, cuz we don't have kids yet. . . ) to drag my name a little deeper in the mud, details, details. . . When I say out, I don't mean to the market for a steak. I go far, FAR out-wherever fortune is. This time it happened to be Water Dragon Isle. (Those fairies are tricky little blighters. . . give them half a chance and they'll gouge out your eyes with their baby fingers if you bug them. And me takin their town's worth of valuables is bloody annoying, I have to admit. It wasn't fun for me either when I got fairy manicure up my socket.)

Ok, so I got my pack full of all the fairy loot the isle has to offer. Well, not exactly, because anytime they make something worth the effort, they haveta forge it out of nature. So, as it ends up, half of my prizes are edible. And when something's edible, you eat it when you're hungry, voices in your head saying:

"Nnnnooooooo don't eat me I'll give you powers beyond your wildest drea-nnnnNNNNOOOOOOOOAAAAAARRRRRGH!"

be damned. That frog-shaped fruit on toppa of that wand was the absolute best, tasted like roast beef . . .man, that was great, all the protein in Arni's in fish form… or seaweed. Gross.

And so I'm comin home. I'm hauling the proverbial slab of bacon, in the form of gold coins (guess the fairies must have de-eyeballed some pirate a while back and kept his things. . .) and jewels galore (Currency exchange rate: treasure food on the table money in the bank SOME GRATITIDE!) The neighbor lady's there and she's on my case on leavin the husband alone for so long (like he's ever gonna 'find comfort' in the arms of some hussy while I'm out making my living . . . specially not some red-headed childhood sweetheart whose been packin on the pounds ever since she tied the knot and started spoilin herself with bonbons after the first kid.)

I give Serge a smack on the lips for love and a smack on her thigh as some friendly advice and what do I get? Copper frying pan to the head (my concussion smells like lemon dish detergent now, thank you very much Leena- Taking the extra step for antibacterial and 'that squeaky clean glow' makes the lump on my head feel so much less self-conscious. Don't worry bump. I'm gonna make your rep "battle scar." That's only half a lie, come to think of it. . . ) Scuz me everyone, while I hit the floor. Good thing I've got enough earnings in the sack on my back to cushion my fall. (Take that, Leena. At least I keep Serge in crazy bright bandannas and pink socks.)

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I don't think Leena looks fat. She's a bit bigger than she was when we were 16, but she had a baby 6 months ago and she hasn't lost all of the weight yet, that's all. I don't understand why Kid keeps making fun of her. I'm a little worried about her . . . Kid, my wife, that is. Leena's "exacted her revenge" and Kid's out like a light on top of that pile of "booty" she brought back. Come to think of what, what am I going to do with that stuff . . .? I know it's important to Kid, she likes hoarding shiny things and picking out her least favorites to foot the grocery bill. . . not like we need much. I do pretty well as a fishermen. I think Kid doesn't like fish very much, though. . . but she eats it. When we were dating, she said something like " I'll eat anything you cook, Serge. . ." And we've kept it up. I wish she didn't hold herself to that. I'd rather have her hating my cooking then being a non-weight issue bulimic every time we eat together.

I've already stuffed the walls with the things Kid brings back after every journey. I suppose I'll have to start stashing some of the waterproof items she collects in the yard. I could the use the exercise, digging. . . But Kid might think that's pirateish. She insists that it's necessary to set boundaries between thief and pirate. It's professional pride, or something.

I'll move Kid to the bed. . . Leena's gotten back to her dishes (her sink's broken and her husband's out on an expedition, so until I can get off my own work, gutting herring in the 'designated fish area', as Kid calls it, and fix her sink, Leena's doing a few kitchen chores at our house.) Leena likes to keep me company whenever Kid and her husband are away simultaneously. Her son's taking a nap in his nursery, and she didn't want to move him, so he's by himself next door. I'm not sure that's ok, but Leena says not to worry about it.

It's hard work undoing the knots that Kid tied. They're as hard as rocks, I don't see how she can get out of them without cutting the straps of her sack off. It's her special booty sack, she says, I gave it to her as a present when we were dating. So she'd never cut it, and she'll always carry it with her to collect pretty things that remind her of me whenever she's away doing what she does. (I'm not interested in asking for details.)

I had no idea what she's talking about . . . a sack as a present when we're dating? Even I'm not that naïve when it comes to romance.

Leena tells me to get the knife out of the drawer and get her out of the damned thing already, she'll warp her spine lying on top of that pile like that. Leena's got this vicious look to her face like she's thinking "if only".

I tell her about Kid loving that sack and wanting to keep it forever, so it's not like I can hack it to pieces and not expect her to freak out about taking "liberties" while she was unconscious. When she wakes up, I mean. I expect Leena to look bewildered about Kid's attachment to something so weird, but she just rolls her eyes and bluntly explains to me what's on my wife's mind.

Kid didn't know much about fishing back when we were dating, so she'd always come into the village thinking I could run off for a few hours and play around, but I'd always be occupied with the seasonal harvest. And I'd handed her a sack because she was standing around looking awkward. I thought she could at least help with bagging the fish and taking them away. And, Leena sighs, because that girl knows absolutely nothing about fishing, and you never talked back then, she thought you were trying to be sweet in some goofy, rustic way.

Oh.

So I roll Kid on her side as a compromise, (on the floor. That heavy bag would mash up our mattress.) so at least she won't be squished or hurt her back. I think voices are coming from her back… It make me kind of nervous, I think I'm gonna back off and just wait til Kid comes 'round before I start making any investigations.

Kid says Leena's a fat cow as much as Leena says Kid is an air-headed tramp (I don't she means it in a "slut" kind of way, which is how Kid uses that word. In Arni village we say that about a person when they can't stay still and have to run out on their family instead of eking a good, honest living as a fisherman. Like Leena and my father were tramps. It's still mean to say about the woman I love, though. Good thing Kid's never heard Leena call her that.)

It's very odd. Kid's built like a boy in the arms and legs and butt, even if she's got a womanly amount of breasts and hips. Like sticks, and muscles like sandstone. She's still gorgeous. But Leena's had her baby and she's nursing and even if she complains about being a swollen milkbag, I've noticed more men looking, and her husband ogling her, even.

Not me, of course. I have Kid.

But I still don't think Leena's fat.

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Yes, this is old. And odd. And out-of-the-ordinary! (Whee, alliteration!)

Er. . . Yes. If Chrono Cross were not a video game, this would be the-less-than-pretty way things would turn out, I think.

You're welcome to think Kid and Serge would travel the globe together having adventures, I'd like to think that myself.

But…no…Yes, just ignore this, I just thought I'd post something. . .

Ok, try to leave a review, and I'll try to write something less um. . .

Yeah.