Wilson Rawls, Your Grave, Sir

“So where the red fur grows is where the fairies pee?” asked Callaghan suddenly while he was doing the dishes. I waited for the follow-up giggle. Silence. He was serious.

See? It’s a good thing he doesn’t mind my writing about him, because damn, I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried, as the cliché goes. I like to write about things I can’t make up. I have more fun writing about things I can’t make up than things I can make up. (This is why I prefer to write creative non-fiction rather than fiction.)

“What did you want to know… where the red fur grows is where the fairies pee?” I asked, thinking maybe I’d misheard.

“That’s what YOU told me!”

“I did not tell you that.”

“Yes! You said where the red fur grows is –

“OH! You mean “where the red fern grows!”

“Yeah well that’s what you told me. There’s something that happens and then the red fern grows. I don’t remember what, but I thought the fairies peeing would be a good alternative.”

Oh my god. One thing I will never be in my marriage is bored.

“I’m not telling you,” I said. “You have to read the book.”

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4 thoughts on “Wilson Rawls, Your Grave, Sir

  1. Lol, the simple fact of being married to a foreigner makes like funnier.
    This way I once “cleaned my cream” instead of brush my teeth.

    Like

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