T’AINT FUNNY, MA GEE

Jeb picked up his croissant, tore it to shreds, and lavishly spread orange marmalade over every nook and cranny. Little bits of orange stuck in his neatly trimmed small goatee. With his tongue he managed to pluck them out. It was not a pretty sight.

I, beardless thank heavens, wiped off the remains of my lipstick and put on a fresh layer just to please myself, not Jeb. His left eye is slightly crossed but he saw what

I did and reprimanded me for fixing my lips in public. ‘Cut that crap out, Jeb. You used your tongue to cleanse yourself and you have the guts to criticize me? Shame on you and don’t do it again, OR.’ There I shut up. ‘Or what?’ I turned my head in order to hold my temper.

Since our ‘love’ affair broke to shards of glass, we share our apartment but haven’t shared the same bed. It was a legal and financial agreement that is souring quickly.

For convenience’s sake we have breakfast together, usually at Mickey’s, where parking is free.

Our ‘regular’ waitress, Nora, was ready for us today. Jeb’s oatmeal was put in front of him within minutes, as if he were the Lord High Executioner. Bang! Jeb hit the table and shouted, ‘Come here, Nora. Take this oatmeal back to the kitchen. Bring it back hot, with my usual pitcher of warm cream and shaker of sugar/cinnamon, NOW! What’s the matter with you today? Got the curse?’

I couldn’t help it. My pointed snake-skin shoe hit into Jeb’s leg like a cobra in heat. He banged the table even harder, gave me a grimacing look. It shook and all eyes were focused on us. Jeb stood up, raised his arms as if he just won the world’s heavyweight championship. Smuggly, loud and clear, he said, ‘I am right, you all know. Waitresses shouldn’t have to be told a hundred times what a customer likes.’
How I wished I could have kicked him harder. Before his temper was cooled Nora was back . His oatmeal et al was to his liking, he thought. A few shakes of the sugar/cinnamon mixture produced nothing. Uselessly he hit it with the palm of his hand. Nora was not in sight. What did genius do? He unscrewed the top of the shaker and shook. The top and what looked like a mountain of sugar/cinnamon fell in his oatmeal. ‘Whoops!’ he yelled.’ I couldn’t stop laughing. Oatmeal was where the orange marmalade had been. I rubbed it in and wiggled my finger at Jeb. ‘It’s your own darn fault. You’re a jinx and don’t you dare make another childish scene–OR.’

‘Or what?’ I zipped my lips, gathered my things and left him sitting by himself. As I walked away, I heard him calling Nora. ‘Clean up this mess and bring me another croissant with orange marmalade.’