Cooked Goose

talking.”
    “She can’t divorce me,” he said, looking genuinely distressed. “She can’t handle the twins by herself and with another one coming in a couple of months. She’s plum crazy. How’s she gonna feed herself and those kids if she throws me out?”
    Savannah quietly studied her brother-in-law and thought that, even though no one was particularly thrilled when he and Vidalia had gotten married, he wasn’t a bad sort. Okay, he was a bit of a yahoo, but—whether Savannah wanted to admit it or not—so was Vidalia.
    Butch might drink a little too much, but he was a sweet drunk and never got completely ripped or out of control. As a car mechanic he didn’t make a lot of money, but they always seemed to pay the rent and have food on the table... when Vidalia bothered to cook. Otherwise, they spent a lot of evenings at the local fast-food joints.
    All in all, he and Vi were a fairly good match... better than Vidalia realized. And although they had always bickered, this out-and-out warfare was a new thing. Something must be up.
    “If you don’t mind me asking,” Savannah said, “what are you two fighting about?”
    He looked embarrassed and uncomfortable as he stared down at his cowboy boots. “Oh, just some nonsense. It ain’t worth goin’ over.”
    She debated whether to push the issue and decided to throw out one more line. “If it’s something big enough for her to divorce you over, maybe it’s not just nonsense.”
    He drank about half the can in one gulp and toyed with the keys on the heavily laden ring on his belt before he replied. “She’s all mad because she... well... about a month ago she found some stuff... you know... some magazines...“ a that I had stashed under the bathroom sink behind the spare toilet paper rolls.”
    “Mmmm... I see.”
    “And she tore ‘em all up and burned the scraps and made me promise I wouldn’t bring anything else like that home ever again.”
    “Yes? And?”
    “And... well, I sorta forgot my promise, and last week she found another one that had sorta slipped behind the toilet tank.”
    “That sucker just ‘slipped’ back there, huh? Imagine that.” He blushed. “Well, you know how it is. She ain’t exactly been friendly lately and... well, guys gotta... you know. I don’t know why she’s makin’ such an all-fired fuss about it. I mean, all men like that stuff. It ain’t like I’m messin’ around on her or nothin’ like that. I’m not doin’ nothin’ nobody else don’t do. I’m a good guy.”
    He began to sniff a little, and his bottom lip quivered. Savannah felt a rush of affection for him, knowing what this little talk of theirs was costing him. He really did care about Vi and his children.
    “Of course you’re a good guy, Butch,” she said. “You’re a great guy, and a fine husband. I know how difficult Vi—or any woman—can be when she’s expecting. And I know it’s hard for a man to put himself in a pregnant woman’s shoes. But let’s think about this for a minute.”
    She considered her case long and hard before presenting it to him. “It’s difficult to draw any kind of a parallel here that will help you understand, but let’s pretend, just for a moment, that for some weird, medical reason, your pecker suddenly shrank to about half an inch long.”
    His eyes bugged out at the very thought. Yes, she had his full attention. “What?”
    “Just pretend for a minute it could happen. And say this... condition... was going to last for about nine months.”
    “This is silly.”
    “I know. But I’m cheaper than a marriage counselor, so hush and listen.” She took a deep breath. “And during this nine months, with this half-inch of equipment, you can’t exactly do your husbandly duties to your wife... at least, not as effectively as you did before. Plus, you’re probably not feeling too good about yourself, not feeling much like a stud. And maybe you’re tired all the time and throwing up every morning to boot. Got the picture?”
    He didn’t look especially enchanted with the tale, but he nodded. “I guess so.”
    “Then one day, you’re fishing around under the bathroom sink for a spare roll and you find a magazine full of good-looking dudes with twelve-inch wangs. And, all of a sudden, you realize that’s why your old lady has been spending so much time in the john. And it’s got nothing to do with constipation, like she said when you asked her.”
    He didn’t reply, but grunted and rubbed the