My ex-husband gambles on steamboats that ply the Mississippi River. He freaks out fellow gamblers by cultivating the creepy company of a black crow that perches on his left shoulder. Other gamblers fear that the crow’s dark spirit sucks their mojo dry, and makes their tosses of the “bones” go sour.
My ex-husband divorced me for red-haired arm-candy. Did I deserve that after I had borne him four children? As of yet, he’s gone unpunished. But I’ve wangled my way to head chef on Proud Mary, his favorite boat.
Yesterday he sat casually birdless, in the steamboat lounge, cleaning a tooth with a toothpick. His moccasin-shod feet stretched forward as he digested the meal he had just eaten.
His gambling ways…unbeknownst to him…gone.
“That was a dish fit for a king!” said hubby.
Four and twenty blackbird-bits were baked in that pie.