I like Madonna. There, I said it.
You’ve got to make him express himself, she urges me. Madonna, when you’re right you’re right, and you’re right, I say. The Lad comes home from work. “Lad,” I say. “Express what you’ve got, baby. Ready or not.”
He stops in the hallway, looking rabbity. “Are you pregnant?” he says.
“That’s the other song,” I say. “I’m just here to cherish the strength.”
“Ok,” he says.
“Cherish is the word I use to remind me of our love,” I explain.
“It’s been kind of a long day…” he says.
“Baby, I perish the thought of leaving you. I never would,” I assure him.
“Thank goodness,” he says, and makes a rush for a Red House Painters CD before I even have a chance to start vogueing.