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Pain in the pail

January 4th, 2019 Leave a comment Go to comments

Dear Liza,

Once again, I’ve received nothing in response to my latest entreaties to you. I wish you could put the bucket incident behind you and let us communicate once more, but alas, you choose to remain silent. My intention has always been to repair our marriage, but it seems the bucket has sabotaged everything we ever had. That hole in its bottom has become a chasm in our marriage, one I’ve concluded you have no interest in helping me fix.

So if this is the end, dear Liza, I would like to simply reiterate that I told you there was a hole in the bucket, repeatedly. And while we had many an amusing back-and-forth about straw and the ax and stones and water, it seems you understand that to be a serious conversation, rather than the silly banter that it was. No, I did not repair the bucket, because it needed to be replaced instead of fixed. You simply refuse to acknowledge this.

That you would unwisely opt to use the same container in question the next day to store the gold flakes you found while panning is confounding. Of course all of the flakes would fall out the bucket’s bottom, yet you were both surprised and infuriated by this, blaming me for the dilemma, as if our entire conversation the previous day had never happened. Then you left for your sister’s, and it was the last time I’ve seen or heard from you.

If this is the path you’ve chosen, dear Liza, so be it. I take your silence to mean you have moved on, and now so shall I. My wagon east leaves in the morning and I’ll be taking what little we owned with me, excluding the bucket. But the ax is already packed.

Formerly yours,
Henry

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