Page 9 of Shadow Ticket

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“I know you do. Me too. Any time you say—high noon in Schuster’s window, shopping day of your choice.” As close as Hicks gets to blurting thoughtless endearments. The preferred way to deal with this kind of thing is grab her and start dancing to music on the radio, though of course the room really isn’t set up for dance numbers, you can’t get carefree with the kicks and turns, you keep running into lamps, furniture, slippery little throw rugs. Some call it clutter, April calls it “the nesting instinct,” something she must’ve read about in some dames’ magazine. Within four bars they’re sure to run afoul of an end table.

Just about then, on comes one of those motivational songs all over the airwaves lately about the joys of suburban married life. Hicks grabs yesterday’sJournal, rolls it into a megaphone, and starts to croon along,

When the shadows come driftin up the highway,

another day, another dollar, I guess,

Is when you’ll find me headin back

to that asphalt-shingle shack, and

my little Missus, Middle-

Clas-siness…

forget that gum-snappin gal from the gashouse,

’n’ keep your poutin pluto-cratic prin-cess,

Just gimme-that cute hootchy-koo,

I’m ree-ferring to, that’s my—

Little Missus, Middle-

Clas-siness…

[bridge]

No more Saturday nights at the hush-hush,

No more soakin’ my socks in the sink,

Now I’m all normalized, just like,

a mil-lion other guys, feelin so

satisfied, as we go slid-in’

o-ver-that brink, y’know,

It’s on-ly a bungalow, in Wau-wato-sa…

But oh, so

co-zy when the sun’s in the west…

Average mug, regular dame, oh did-I-for-get

to mention-her-name? Well, it’s

My little Missus Middle-

Classiness, oh yes, she’s—my

little Missus—

“You son of a bitch.”

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