Sylvia's Revenge

"You're gonna fly with me." The singer's voice, two octaves above normal, reverberated through the house. "Across a sea of cold hydrogen to planets hidden in nebula clouds."

"Damn," muttered Sylvia setting up and feeling on the nightstand for her glasses. Unable to find them, she pushed herself out of bed. "Why can't Stephen turn the music down to a civilized level." She put on a yellow cotton housecoat, then slipped her right foot into a purple croc and her left foot into red croc. She opened a door and walked into the closet. "Crap!" Backing out of the closet, she felt her way to the bedroom door and stepped into the hall.

"Stephen," she shouted hugging the wall as she made her way to the living room. "Turn that damn music down, some of us are trying to sleep." Abruptly the music stopped and a few seconds later the front door slammed.

"Sylvia," Stephen, wiping his face and neck with a linen napkin, hurried toward his wife. "I thought you were asleep." He stuffed the napkin in the pocket of his slacks. "What woke you up?"

"Your weird music," she squinted trying to see his face. "Who just left the house?"

"Uh... No one! Uh... I forgot to lock the door and the wind blew it open." Putting his right hand around Sylvia's waist, he guided her to the couch in the living room. Then he picked up a pair of gold rimmed glasses off the coffee table and handed them to her.

She put the glasses on and continued to squint. "Stephen," she removed the glasses and laid them on the coffee table. "These aren't my glasses, I can't see any better wearing them then I can without them.

"Of... Of course, they're yours," he picked them up. "Maybe they're just dirty." He removed the napkin from his pocket, dipped it in a glass of red wine, attempted to clean the lens, and handed them back to her. "Now try them, Sweet Heart."

"That didn't help," she glared at him. "These are not my glasses!" She put them back on the coffee table knocking a wine glass over in the process.

The door bell ring, so Stephen went into the foyer to answer the door. A few minutes later he came back into the living room, picked up the glasses and left again.

"Try these," he said returning to the living room and handing her a pair of pink rimmed glasses. "I mean..."

She put the glasses on and then picked up the wine glass she had knocked over. She held the glass up to the light and turned it around several times, studying the lipstick smudge on its rim. "This isn't my lipstick either," she handed him the glass.

"Sylvia," he glanced at his watch. "Can we talk about this later? If I don't hurry I'm going to be late for work." He picked up a set of keys off the coffee table and rushed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

"Fine," she whispered picking up his wallet off the floor. She removed his drivers license and credit cards before going to the front door.

"Sylvia," he came back into the house. "Did I leave my wallet in the living room?"

She handed him the wallet and then stood, with the door open watching, as he backed out of the driveway. She put his license on top of the his renewed car registration, which still laid on the oak mail stand in the foyer. Picking up one of the cell phones, she speed dialed Jones Lock and Key.

"Mr. Jones, could you send someone to rekey the locks on my doors again."

"As soon as possible."

"Yes, I'll pay extra," she smiled. "Can you use my husband's debit card?" After giving him the number on the card she disconnected, went into the living room, and pour herself a glass of wine.

Five hours later, after the locks had been rekeyed, she was sitting on the patio sipping a cup of coffee. When she heard someone trying to unlock the front door.

"I tell you, Officer" Stephen shouted. "This is my house!" The doorbell ring, "I don't know why the key won't work and I don't know why my wife doesn't answer the door."