Paul Simon

We were getting ready for the party, drinking wine and listening to Paul Simon.  We both just loved Paul Simon all of a sudden.  I went to put the appetizers in the oven, and when I got back, she was crying.

“Hey,” I said.  “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

She said sometimes she loves Paul Simon so much she has to cry.

She was drunk.  She was laughing and crying at the same time like they do in the movies.  She was wearing the dress I’d bought for myself, but she was right, it did look better on her.

I sat beside her on the couch.

“Did you want to marry Paul Simon instead?” I asked.

“I think he’s already married.” She said.

I crossed my legs over hers on the coffee table.

“It’s just I don’t think anyone can make me as happy as Paul Simon does.  You don’t make me as happy as Paul Simon does.”

She was crying for real now.

I heard the timer on the oven go off.

“What can I do to make you happier?”

“This isn’t about you.  You always think things are about you.  This is about me and Paul.”

I went into the kitchen to flip the cheese sticks from the oven onto their backs.

“People will be here soon.  What do you want to do?” I asked.

“I don’t know.  I don’t know anything.  Maybe we shouldn’t even get married.”

“How about we have some water and eat the good snacks before the guests get here?”

“That sounds good.”

“And I’m going to turn off Paul Simon for a bit.”

“Please don’t,” she said.  “He’s the only one that makes me happy.”

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