A Holiday? That's what the fourth's supposed to be? I mean without it, we'd never be able to go off half-cocked or plead the fifth, right? There should be some celebration. Did anybody inform my people, cuz I think they missed the memo.

It started as a normal Friday: breakfast coffee, my neighbor yelling in the front yard. Well, it wasn't my front yard, it was his, but my front window faces his favorite front yard yelling space.

Today he's yelling beneath a portable awning. There's a work table, clown makeup, I leather collar, and lots of contraptions that say "home project" laid out before him. At least that's what it looked like. I don't know. I'm guessing. I don't speak that language anymore.

He's yelling at his son--stepson. I'm going out to get my newspaper. I don't pay attention; that’s why Californians put up fences: so we can pretend we don't see the fruit falling far from the tree. Still, as I pass, the neighbor gives me a nod and a, "Howdy Neighbor!" What am I gonna do?

"Hey! So whatcha got going today?"

"I'm doing the cement bar top." This project has been on the books since last July, when he hauled all his kitchen entrails out the door on a trailer. Since then, they've been living in the empty husk of a remodel. Why do I know this story? Because his wife won't let anybody forget. I can only guess how she's tattooed it to his flesh.

I smile, "Cool!" Ooh, look! Macy's is having a white sale!

"Hi!" speak of the devil. No, it's not MyUnwife, it's his current wife. I always forget her name. I smile and wave. Her husband's name is Dave. I can hear Dave complaining because the cement isn't setting right. He's hurling scoops of grey poop all over the yard. She who's name cannot be remembered tells him, "You can stop right now if you like, we'll just drive down to Home Depot and get that granite countertops…"

Oh! Look at the time! Busy! Busy! I dash inside. I've been married. I know where these conversations go: nowhere. It's a good thing to not be part of. Just me and my California fence, and I'm going inside.

Still, I need to hear marital interaction. It reminds me that no matter how I stab at MyUnwife, she wasn't any worse than other wives. If you think about that (and I try not to), that means I wasn't the worst husband either. Oh that doesn't make me as driven as Indigo Montoya, but I'm no Prince Humperdinck either. I'd like to think I'm a Dread Pirate Robby, (AARRG!) but probably not.

Not to the death, we'll marry, "to the pain…"

Now I'm married to my work. Today, I serve it's needs, quickly shower, and head out to see a man about some linens. I really do need new sheets and towels. MyUnwife left me with one working set of each. Oh, she also left me with scrap heaps of broken down linens, but they're only for quick fixes and spare beds. You know, the sheets that fit a mattress somebody owned before you even showed up; the towels that are the same ones you give the kids to use at the pool. If they disappear, who'll notice? The towels disappear, not the kids…

Oh I'm not saying that she ran off with all the good stuff. Ok, she did, but that's not what I'm saying, and especially not about the sheets and towels. We had 2 good sets of each, she took one, she left me with one. What's more, she left me with the ones that matched my space, and she did it on purpose. Everybody smile at MyUnwife, wave, and say "Thank You MyUnwife."

Good, now go inside.

And what she left was good, but the problem is that one clean set can only take so many washings. Mine have gone too far and they can't go on. I've used duct tape, but it's gone. So today I caved. Today, I went out and bought me new linens. I have one stimulus tax check and one white sale. To me, that equals a two reasons to buy. I'm a good sheep, I'm only doing what I'm asked: rebuilding the economy one wash cloth at a time.

I bought the new wash cloths. I bought the new sheets. I bought the new towels. I bought the new pillowcases. Now you want to hear the silly part? I can't use them. Nope. Right now they're like my first girlfriend: all look, no touch. See here's the thing. I still have all my old sheets and towels, and for the next 20 days I have my old marriage as well. I'll use them. They're mine. I broke 'em, I bought 'em, I'll use them.

But, on my first day as a single, I'm all new. It's a clean slate that begins with clean sheets and clean towels. A new day, for a new Rob. Out with the old in with the new. Have I left a cliché untouched? An adage unturned? Good, now you're speaking my language.

I'm gonna sleep in my new sheets, shower in my new towel--well, no. I'll just dry off in the towel after a shower, but I will still sleep in the sheets--and I'll do it all with my naked finger.

This starting over is hard work! I didn't even get to do my normal Friday stuff. That's ok, today is back as another normal day for an old Rob approaching new. I can go out, drink coffee, and write tonight. Tonight begins one night closer to new beginning. I can celebrate that in the red white and blue twilight of old Rob.