Brightly plumed tweeters

Frying pan induced brightly feathered tweeters orbited my noggin. "So pretty," I said. "Next time don't drink so much," came a retort from the orbital beyond. As my eyes focussed I saw her standing above me arms crossed. In her right fist was the pan ready for seconds. "Get up off the floor or I'll give you a reason to be there." "Sounds like a threat," I said between tweets. "No. It's a fact. Next time you'll see stars." The time was right to rise and get ready for the day. "How long was I out?" "It's the scond of January. You do the math." Her look and tone sent me scurrying. The beginning of another year of blissful married life. Oh, what would it bring. It was the perennial question at this time of year. So many times I had asked myself that same thing. Each year the answer never brought surprise. Maybe this year would be better. Maybe it was time for a change. Always the same thoughts, year after year. Being married was never what I had imagined, but I had never had a very active imagination. Wonder how that fire can be stoked?