[Man and woman of advanced years are sitting side by side on couch near gas-powered fireplace. He has just finished reading, on iPad, preview of post she intends to publish.]
She: So? What do you think?
[He slowly shakes his head from side to side.]
She: No? Why not?
He: It makes me uncomfortable.
She: Too far out?
He: I don’t think you should do it. It’s not…..
She: Not what?
He: Not how they think of you.
She: How who thinks of me? Who is “they?” We don’t even know who “they” are. Except that lovely young photographer in Japan. And four other people we knew from before the blog. But they already realize I’m likely to say anything.
He: Well, how do you think the photographer will feel?
She: I don’t know. Maybe she’ll be disappointed. Shocked? I hope not. Although the Japanese are more reserved than we are. I would be sorry to let her down. The piece is funny, though. And she’s quite sophisticated. She may just think it’s funny.
He: Do you want your sons to see it?
She: That’s a tough question. If they were sitting here by the fire with us? No, I wouldn’t be talking about such things. Although I might be able to with one of the daughters-in-law. Just the two of us. After some wine. And then we’d laugh about it. [Pause] But why should I censor myself when writing in order to comport with what I suppose are the standards of my middle-aged children?
He: I wouldn’t do it.
She: You wouldn’t write half the things I’ve put in the blog. Besides, you were always sort of a prude. In public, that is.
[She tickles him in his midsection. He can’t keep from laughing.]
She: [returning to topic of her children] One of them doesn’t read the blog anyway. He’s probably afraid to be embarrassed. And the other one used to know me pretty well. I mean, it’s not as if I used any dirty words.
[He raises an eyebrow.]
She: Well, I didn’t. It’s written with extreme circumspection. I don’t even call anything by its right name. I call it an “appendage.”
He: If it were a movie, would it get a “G” or a “PG” rating?
She: Of course not. Adult subject matter.
She: Do you really believe anyone who reads my blog thinks there’s nothing between my waistline and my knees?
He: No, but you don’t have to write about it.
She: Well, I just came a cropper with Medicare Part D. The stats were way down. Maybe I’ll do better with biological needs.
He: You said you’re not supposed to look at the stats.
She: You’re not. But they’re addictive. Like you with ice-cream pops.
He: [ignoring remark about ice-cream pops] I can’t tell you what to do.
She: That’s right. Although you sort of are, aren’t you?
He: No. It’s just my opinion, that’s all. Why don’t you sleep on it? Decide tomorrow.
She: Okay, I’ll decide tomorrow. That will give anyone who’s nervous after overhearing our conversation today enough of a heads-up to stay away from the blog tomorrow. Just in case I decide not to listen to you.
He: You never listen to me.
She: Almost never. But sometimes.
He: Very few sometimes.
She: Ah, who knows whether or not this will be one of those times!
[He clicks off the fire, she collect the cats, and they turn off the lights until tomorrow.]