Butchblog

“I’ve had it with this country,” Harry said. “I think we’re going to have to leave.”

            “You say that,” his wife Lilly responded, “but you don’t really mean it.”

            “I do this time. The damn place has gone batshit crazy.”

            “It’s always been that way, honey. Nothing new. We’ll survive.”

            “I’m not so sure,” he grumbled. “This feels different.”

            “What does?”

            “Everything. The hostility, the division. I mean, you can’t even talk openly to people at the grocery store anymore without worrying that they’ll put you on some right-wing hit list or something.”

            “Since when do you talk to people in the grocery store?”

            “That’s exactly my point.”

            “You’re impossible. Don’t you think there are still some good MAGA people out there?”

            “No I don’t. What kind of good person approves of ripping brown people off the streets with no cause other than their appearance, or approves of taking Medicaid payments away from needy people so that the money can be given to fat cats, or firing people because they don’t bend the knee, or . . .”

            “Okay, I get it. But maybe they’re just misinformed or, more likely, completely uninformed”

            “Could be,” Harry said. “I still don’t like it.”

            “You have to relax, honey. Why don’t you go for a nice long walk on the beach. Or get your board out and go play in the waves?”

            “I don’t want to go for a damn walk. A walk isn’t going to stop what’s happening.”

            “Look, I’m worried too. Especially about our kids. All the young people really. They’re the ones who are going to have to deal with this mess.”

            “Right.”

            “But angsting about it doesn’t help.”

             “I know,” Harry muttered.

            “We’re doing what we can – protesting, sending money when we can, talking to the neighbors,” she said. “Now all we can do is wait for 2026 and hope enough people see the light.”

            “But waiting is the hard part,” he said. “I can’t remember the last time I had a good night’s sleep. I dreamt last night that Trump snuck into our bedroom.”

            “Really? What did he want?”

            “He was trying to smell your hair.”

            Lilly laughed. “Sounds about right. He’s clearly a perv. Did you protect me, sweetie?”
            “I hit him with a whiffle-ball bat.”

            “Did that do it?”

            “Don’t remember. I woke up sweating at that point.”

            “You have to relax, babe. Take a breath. Take three.”

            “You’re right. Maybe I should get my wetsuit on. I never think about this crap when I’m out in the ocean.”

            “It’s gonna be okay, Harry.”

            “You really think so.”

            “Maybe,” Lilly said.