First Word: Danette Beavers: Curse

I have sent things to hell so many times that I’m not sure even the devil could compete with me. Really, he should be paying me, giving me kick-backs or dividends or interest, or something financial that I can’t allude to because I am financially inept—so financially inept, in fact, that should my husband ever die or go into a coma, I will have to throw up my hands to the sky and beg God to deliver me from that certain hell. Then I will cry, which I do with great regularity, and someone kind and gentle, or several someones kind and gentle, will come along and say, “There, there, Danette. Let’s sit down and have some tea,” and I’ll say, “I don’t drink tea. I can’t drink it without sugar, and if I can’t have the sugar, I just assume not have the tea, but I will have a glass of water if you would like to have the tea, and I wouldn’t even mind if you had yours with sugar,” and that sugar-drinking friend will smile and nod knowingly and we will begin by discussing U.F., and my gentle friend will say that U.F. is something about making the something uniform to correct for the something that has to do with inflation, and then I will shake my head knowingly, too, maybe even write it down so’s not to forget, and then Kind-and-Gentle will say, “Do you know your husband’s passwords for his bank accounts and credit cards and I will say, “Well, I can guess,” and then I will sip from my water glass and then Kind-and-Gentle will thrum his or her fingers on the dining room table and say, “Well. Right, then. How about making an Excel spread sheet so that you can figure out just how much you have?” and I will say, “Would a paper and pen be okay? Because I don’t know how to use Excel. I tried once, but I ended up damning it to hell.”