F is for Frannie

It was 5:00 pm, Frannie’s husband Gus would be home from work soon. Frannie checked on the pot roast in the oven and set the table. She added a little more butter to the mashed potatoes, then poured herself a glass of wine.

Frannie kept a box of Chardonnay in the fridge. Every evening at precisely 5:00 o’clock, she poured herself a large goblet-full and continued to refill it throughout the night. As Gus would ramble on about his day at work, Frannie would sip from her glass and respond appropriately. When needed she would gasp, other times shake her head, but more often than not she would simply nod approvingly.

From 7:00-10:00 pm Gus watched back-to-back episodes of those cop shows featuring tough talking NYC policemen solving heinous crimes. At 8:00 Frannie would bring Gus his dessert, which he would eat while lying down on their brown leather couch. He would balance the plate on his soft round belly and slowly shovel forkfuls of sweetness into his small mouth. On more than one occasion Frannie had asked him to eat his dessert while sitting up, she was afraid he would choke. He always refused, saying he worked hard and deserved to relax when he was home. Frannie didn’t know the Heimlich manoeuvre and she had no intention of learning it, so he was on his own.

Tonight’s dessert was pecan pie and vanilla ice cream. The pie was freshly baked, not by Frannie, but by the bakery at her local supermarket. Though Frannie considered herself a decent baker, she saw no reason to waste her time with it. A man like Gus didn’t know the difference between a home baked pie and a store bought one, so what was the point? Besides, Frannie enjoyed keeping up the ruse, delighting each time she discarded another bakery box.

While Gus watched television Frannie would tidy up and lay out clean clothes for him for the next day. Then, after refreshing her wine, she would go to their office and turn on the computer. Frannie collected garden gnomes – she currently had 39 gnomes displayed throughout their backyard – and she was always on the hunt for new and unique ones. Last summer Frannie had suffered a horrible loss to her collection: her red, white and blue 4th of July gnome had been stolen from their front porch. It had taken Frannie weeks to recover. What kind of a low-life steals a patriotic garden gnome?

Frannie was busy scrolling through websites when Gus called out:Β “Frannie, a little more please! It’s one of your best pecan pies ever!” “Ha!” thought Frannie. She went and retrieved the plate from Gus’s belly and re-filled it with more pie and ice cream.

“Thanks Frannie,” he said with his eyes glued to the television screen, as she placed the plate back on his bulging mid-section.

Frannie returned to her search and ten minutes later she scored: a bright yellow gnome on sale for $19.99. She quickly typed in her credit card information and address. The yellow would be a great pop of color for the back corner of her garden which was currently filled with darker shade plants.

“Frannie, I’m finished!” yelled Gus.

Frannie went and took the empty plate off of Gus’s belly, rinsed it and placed it in the dishwasher. Β Then she went outside, turned on the sprinkler and watched as her gnomes enjoyed their nightly bath.