It's Still Life

ALWAYS REMEMBER RULE #1,023

I need glasses. The ones on your nose. In front of your eyes. To see stuff, though most of it’s quite forgettable. But there’s no equivalent for forgetfulness. The proof is hypotenuse – I’ve forgotten everything about it. Well, almost. I do remember it’s nothing to do with peridot-green moss on an oak tree. Or citrine-orange fungi in the outhouse, which will drop you like a dead-duck before you can pull up your pants. And bridge – I draw a blank on bridge. I played it just the once, and then forgot all about it. And there are things my mother told me. Like Rule number two: lock the door behind you (or maybe it was close the door behind you – or maybe it was the window). Or open the window, maybe that was it. We’re supposed to open windows nowadays to let germs out, but it’s mid-winter – and it’s freezing – you could catch your death. But I’ve never forgotten Rule number one thousand and twenty three: Don’t sleep with a married man, unless you’re married to that man.

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A music lesson