A COMPLICATED QUESTION
Jazzbo was about seven, apparently in a romantic mood:
“Mama, did Gigi get down on his knees and ask you to marry him?”
“No, he didn’t Jazz”
“Well how did you get married?” his face puckered.
“In the surf On Virgin Gorda. The British West Indies. Barefoot.”
“No. Mama! Did he ask you first before you got married?”
“No. I asked him.”
His face un-puckered as his eyes widened,
and one of his eyebrows shot straight up.
“What about Grampa, did he ask you?”
“No. And we went to Reno, got married in
Golden Wedding Bell Chapel Number 2.
Number 1 was booked up”.
“Mama! Did anyone ever ask you to marry them?”
My grandson seemed a little desperate.
“Well, there was a Sea Captain named John in Portland,
And an Englishman named Stephen in the English Channel,”
I paused, lingering in the hall of incomplete marital memories.
“WELL? Did you marry ANY of them?”
“No, Jazz, I was already married.”
“Well, how am I supposed to do it then?”