Lay Lady Lay
Week Thirty-four: Lay Lady Lay Stay, lady, stay, stay with your man a while Until the break of day, let me see you make him smile. His clothes are dirty, but his hands are clean, And you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. —Bob Dylan, Lay Lady Lay, from Nashville Skyline Much to the embarrassment for my wife of 51 years, whenever the opportunity arises I am prone to asking a total stranger to guess the number of years we’ve been married. Now mind you, I am not inclined to approach people on the street to ask them to guess, but in certain well-timed circumstances it seems cool...to me; not Deb so much. I suppose that if I were to be somewhere in a leather-rich office, lying prone, and staring skyward revealing the far reaches of my cluttered mind I could figure out why I do that. Perhaps I am mining for compliments; you know…”Wow, 51 years! You don’t look old enough to be married 51 years!” or “That’s awesome! It takes a special couple to make 51!” I’m pretty sure I don’t need an overpa