Monday, January 24, 2011

A constellation.
In a month or so I’ll grow bedsores. What will she say to that?
   —Let me smooth some elbows on your cream. Feel better?
   —Delightful. Some here?
   —I see. . . .
   —And my shoulder blades.
   —I see. Why don’t I just give you a rub? So tell me what you did today.
   —Well, after long deliberation the gods have seen fit to ratify my proposition. We’ll be raising the new constellation on the evening of the fifteenth.
   —You don’t say. Congratulations.
   —Draco’s out of town ’til the thirteenth, Hercules enters the clinic on the seventeenth. The most crucial obstacle, filling those two vacant spaces, was finally hurdled late last Saturday when the Big Man made a show and came ’round to granting us a couple stars.
   —Quite an accomplishment.
   —I’d say. He won long applause. And then you know, the entire chamber turned ’round and applauded me. The Big Man too! Although He didn’t stand. You know I have to admit I was a bit choked up. Then Cepheus tapped me on the shoulder, and guess what? Cassiopeia kissed me on the cheek! Hercules invited me out for a drink, but I declined. You know what happened the last time we went out drinking two-o’clock in the morning.
   —A national disgrace!
   —I’d say. I got off easy. The press has yet to forgive Herc.
   —Do you suppose those women’ll ever get their lives back in order?
   —Beats me.

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