Stick People

Adding to the week's surprises, my parents called today with the news that they are coming for a visit. TOMORROW.

—Is tomorrow okay?

I made a mental calculation of this week's deadlines, about to be missed. Of the hours it would take to render my study, a.k.a. "the guest bedroom," suitable for guests.

—Of course. Tomorrow is great.

Once the phone was back in its cradle, we sprang into action. We swept, we scrubbed, we vacuumed, we mowed, we dusted, we laundered, we pruned. Hell, Adam even did some mulching and stone-bordering of the now-defunct wildflower patch.

When we are in a groove, Adam and I can work together like a pair of synchronized swimmers (minus the crazy gelatin-updos). But when it came to the magnet, he was the trampolinist to my shot-putter.

—What's wrong with that? Why are you taking it down?

—It's just not something I want my parents to see, that's all.

We were talking about the "How Stick People Went Extinct" magnet that we bought a month ago in a novelty shop. It's a three-panel cartoon that shows two little stick people getting amorous, starting to have sex, and then bursting into flame as a result of the friction. Adam and I had both stared at it for a second before we both burst out laughing. Now the magnet holds up our calendar on the fridge.

But not, apparently, when my parents visit.

Adam finds my "self-censorship" childish and extreme.

—We're all adults here. They'd probably think it's funny.

A beat. Here it comes.

—Is this some sort of Catholic thing?

Gosh, I dunno. Is it? Stick people, yay or no? Who thinks they should remain on the fridge, and who thinks I was right to bury them under my bras?