Last night, my husband thought I was psychic,
not psycho which he thinks more often.
My skills of observation,
reading verbal and non-verbal cues,
my intuitions, honed over many years
of interviewing, assessing, counseling,
Yes, I know my stuff.
I feel complimented when another recognizes this.
He was at Pane e Vino, one of our favorite restaurants
and expected me to join him.
But I can't piece a puzzle together without a hint,
a suspicion, a tiny bit of intel
so I failed, eating leftovers solamente,
as my husband wined, dined and chatted,
my evening boring compared to his.
The story goes, I should have texted him,
he would have texted his location, etc.
It's my fault for not divining this info,
plucking it out of the wind.
Perhaps he'll consider texting me next time
|photo by author, |
courtesy of UNOS Gallery