“Just what I said: Not. Married.” He shrugged nonchalantly, as if he said, Hon, we’re out of toothpaste.“Sweetie, I paid the minister. Signed papers. Ate cake. It’s a done deal.”
“According to the Los Angeles’ Registrar, it’s not a done deal.”“Registrar?”
“Don’t worry, I’m petitioning it. But in the meantime, we’re not married.”“Is this your way of telling me you have a girlfriend?”
“No. This is my way of telling you not to go to the ER. You’re not covered under my insurance if we’re not married.”“WE ARE MARRIED.”
“Please don’t get sick.” He gave me a deliberate look that said, I hope you’ve been saving because you’ll be paying your own medical bills out of your Starbucks’ latte fund.“What if I die?”
“Dying is not covered. Don’t die.”“Ooh, if we’re not married, can we get remarried, have a big party? That would be fun.”
“No.”“What about a honeymoon? I deserve it for putting up with you for 13 years.”
“Sure, we can go on another honeymoon, as long as we go separate places by ourselves.”I was flabbergasted that he said that. Although I agreed completely. I was mentally picturing myself in Hawaii and him at the Grand Canyon. Separate honeymoons was an idea whose time had come.
“I’m kidding. You know we’d have to take the kids. Or maybe they could go somewhere by themselves. Hmm, that could work.”This was the first time I considered our (il-) legitimate children.
“Sweetie, what will become of our illegitimate children?”“They can get sick. They’re covered. But you’re not.”
Suddenly, I felt a violent headache coming on.“I think I have a brain tumor. Maybe I should get it looked at.”
“You have to wait until the State of California straightens out this mess. No brain tumors this week.”I turned and walked out of the room.
“Where are you going?”“Online. I have four separate vacations to plan.”
trifecta writing challenge, the word is "deliberate," essay is exactly 333 words