Yo ho, yo ho

parrotframeDear Housewives,

Sometimes we make discoveries that shake the foundation of our relationships.

Yesterday evening, I was running errands when my wife Kit messaged me to say she was on her way home.  It was dark when I arrived back to our building, and I looked up to our apartment to see if Kit was home. She would have switched on the light. But as soon as I looked up, I saw them. Light on. Curtains open. I stood there on the sidewalk in utter disbelief.

Our neighbour Tom has lived next door to us for years. I’ve only bumped into him a dozen times, and he’s always cheerful and friendly. Unlike our other next door neighbour, he doesn’t mind that Kit and I are a lady couple. Not once has he given us the evil eye or smeared blood on our front door. He seems like the kind of guy you would watch hockey with. Of course, as queer housewives, the only puck we ever see is at the Shakespearean festival, but you know what I mean.

Yesterday, as I looked up into our apartment, our lights were off and, instead, I saw directly into Tom’s living room. Usually his curtains are drawn. Not last night. My jaw dropped. There in Tom’s living room were at least a dozen large, brightly coloured parrots . That is, I thought they were parrots. As I stood there on the sidewalk like a peeper, I realized that they were all statues. Some were on perches, others in fancy birdcages. Several were placed on top of an IKEA Expedit.

Tom is a parrot statue hoarder. It was unexpected to say the least. Where does one even buy parrot statues? I steadied myself and headed in.

Kit arrived home minutes after I did, and before she could catch her breath and take off her shoes, I reported my news.

“I was walking home, and Tom had his light on. You’re not going to believe this, but he collects parrot statues. It’s like a Caribbean-themed restaurant in there.”

Kit looked at me and nodded, “Oh yeah, I noticed that like two years ago. I didn’t tell you?”

Housewives, sometimes the people we love keep important things from us. It’s not always intentional, but it still hurts like a cutlass through the heart.

Yours,

Portman Doe

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