Happy Wife, Happy Life

By Christopher Brinson

Twelve exhausting hours at LEGOLAND. Nonetheless, I persisted.

“Where are we going? “ she asked.

“To a cemetery.” I replied.


“Pay homage to Bukowski.”

She groaned and said “I don’t want to know. Just make it quick.”

We arrived. I got out and searched in vain.

Both kids started crying. She walked over to me.

“Listen,” she demanded , “Either get in that damn car and drive us back or I’m leaving you here with rest of the skeletons.”

So, we got in the mini-van and returned to our hotel in San Diego.

Old Hank wasn’t going anywhere.

“I write because it beats the hell out of watching Netflix.” – the writer

2 thoughts on “Happy Wife, Happy Life

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