When you ask your wife if she’s driving to work and she just looks at you and asks, “Why would I drive to Times Square?” and you stand in silence, knowing this is one of an increasing number of uncomfortable moments when you realize your brain is misfiring, that you had thought she was going to Westchester County even though she’s been working at Times Square all week, and you spend this moment inside your wife’s head, where you feel her imagining a time twenty or so years in the future when she can’t even have a conversation with you, the same way you can hardly have a conversation with your own mother because her mind sometimes can’t recall the ages or even the names of your children or a conversation you had with her the previous week. You want to tell your wife that this won’t happen, that you are in control of your mind whereas your mother’s mind ceased to develop and grow since she had you when she was seventeen years old, but instead you say, “Yeah, I know,” and wait for this moment to pass, for this look of annoyance and confusion to leave your wife’s face, and hope to put as much time as possible between this and the next such moment.

What are the Sneaky Feels?

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AuthorJohn Proctor