Long life..

A/n: Happy Mother's day!!
--oo--

Number 115 was a boxy sad affair of a trailer house, with avocado paint, of a shade not seen for at least two decades, peeling off the sagging siding.

Marge let herself in, and strode into the small kitchen, sucking on the inside of her cheek. She glanced at the stacks glossy magazines on the round kitchen table, and placed her case binder and car keys next to her cup of tea on a relatively clear spot at the very edge. She let of a breath as she took up a few pamphlets in her hands, and settled down into a creaky wooden chair.

Her mind was not on the cheerful articles that declared miracle cures, or amazing ways to melt off the extra pounds gathering about her thick middle. No. Her thoughts swirled about the radio program she had listened to intently on her drive over.

Studies say the average life span of marriage is 42 years. This is theorized as men wishing an 18 year old woman in their latter years, rather than the usual complaining shrew most women turn into by age 40.

She looks at the old couple sitting together before the television, glassy eyes staring at the vibrant images flickering across the screen. The volume was up quite high, and nearly made Marge's teeth rattle.

"Hello Mr. and Mrs Smith." She greeted, speaking loud with a tight professional smile stretching her lips. She hoped her voice was louder that the T.V. this time, but it was hard to tell.

She watched the silver head of Mrs.

Smith bounce back, and jerk to life. A turn of the ancient wrinkled neck, and she met the wide vacant eyes sliding her way.

"Oh.. There you are. How are you dear..?" Mrs. Smith greeted, and Marge strained her ears to catch her soft words as the woman spoke in something a normal volume.

"Fine. Can't complain." Marge replied.

"What was that dear..?" Mrs. Smith asked. "You youngun's always mumble.." She muttered as her bushy white brows met at her lined forehead.

"I said, I can't complain!" Marge said, feeling something scrape painfully inside her throat. Her voice had to have been a much louder volume though, for Mrs. Smith smiled a wide pleased smile and a nodded.

Marge leaned over to better see Mr. Smith, and shook her head in disbelief at the silvered head dipped back into the cushions. She eyed his jaw slack and marveled at the thin line of drool dribbling down the stubble sprouting on his chin.

"That man can't hear a thing, can he..?" She said aloud, her own voice a mumble with the terrific cacophony filling her ears.

"What..?" Mrs. Smith replied. "What was that?"

"Nothing!" Marge replied brightly, and darted her gaze back to the open magazine in her hands.

Scientist don't know a thing. Marge thought, and chuckled to herself. I suppose the secret to a long marriage is to live long enough to not be able to hear any complaints.

Sent via Blackhole