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The scent of the ink still wet on the divorce

  • The scent of the ink still wet on the divorce papers was cause for reflection; it smelled like, her...you know who...the one you can't stop thinking about...like, lilacs in summer.
  • Like purple rain, like sparklers in a car wash, like the lapidary dance we did around each other in the laundromat dryer we call our life. Divorce papers, hmm. We both knew
  • that our marriage had been on boil wash for too long and was now misshapen, matted & covered in fluff. But divorce papers? Surely there was a solution which could remove the stains
  • from these spaghetti stains, I called up the laundromat and asked them about dry cleaning my divorce papers. They told me to come in on Tuesday. I showed up but they were closed.
  • Why did I leave my divorce papers in my pants? To end up in the Laundromat! Gee, I coulda thought this through better. I returned on Wednesday and retrieved the papers..
  • The warm, soapy water had disintegrated the essential forms, like I'd washed a tissue in my pocket. White fibres were scattered throughout the load of laundry. Well, my ex-wife was
  • wonder if she really was my ex now. Those documents were the only thing other than everything else that proved we were divorced. If I couldn't prove we were divorced, my election
  • would be overturned. So I rolled over and asked her "Hey Hon, are we divorced, or what?" "I don't sleep with married men, you know that," she answered. I called my campaign manager
  • , but he was at a retreat for married men who loved banging their crotches into dwarfs and fairies wearing boots; so, I said, “No, we’re just separated,” and went back to sleep.
  • I slept deeply. I must have had an active sleepwalking session: When I awoke it was ME in bed being cuddled and cooed at by 3 dwarfs and 4 fairies. Oh, I mustn’t forget the sheep.

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