I had three kids scouring the neighborhood looking for Slappy, their beloved pet Dalmatian. And I had a wife at home who knew better.
“How long you gonna let his charade continue?” she asked.
Forever, I hoped.
“Tell them when they get back,” she demanded.
Tell them what? That I gave the dumb mutt away after it destroyed my collection of vinyl records? No thanks.
I swirled cheap bourbon in my cold rocks glass instead. I took a long sip while avoiding eye contact with my now enraged wife.
“I tell ’em,” I said.
But I’ll admit nothing, I thought.
The Weekday One Hundred 