Charlotte,

(who is better known as Chuck)

planned for weeks

for the weekend away from home,

buying pantyhose, make-up, heels

and underthings,

a pretty dress

fancy rings

and hair that fell

like golden fringe
on a cheerleader's miniskirt,

and hiding it all

in a box in the garage

behind old paint cans

in a corner

where his wife never goes,
good camaflouge

slipping out there the night before

to pack it in the trunk of the car

for this was to be

his first
time out.

He told her he was going

to a "regional meeting,"

a training session,

a seminar,

a very boring kind of thing,

from which he would return

on Sunday.

The drive was long

four hours,

(plus one ten-minute pit stop

to relieve himself and buy 12 cans of Bud...for you)

but necessary to be far enough away

so no one there would know him;

no chance of being recognized

("Isn't that Chuck over there?

in the sequined mini-dress?

Yeah

You remember Chuck.

Wasn't he a running back, back in high school

for the Querro Gobblers?")

Checked in as someone else

and trucked his stuff to the motel room

his heart beating hard

like the big bass drum

at half-time

and immediately got down to business.

Shaving carefully first

and then the make-up

(according to instructions he found on the Internet.)

Carefully applying layer after layer

of this and that

and last of all

the wig,

preening in the mirror

a pom-pom girl at last

preparing for her date

with destiny.

The clothing was a cinch.

He'd done it all, many times before

stealing time

when his wife was not around.

(She might have understood, he thought,

but then again

might not.

So why take the chance?)

The bra,

the slip,

and then the clothes;

the dress

high heels,

and pantyhose

and there she was
so free at last

so free at last

feeling so flighty

and free at last.

Crossing to the door she saw

the light of twilight

through the motel window.

Not time, just yet, she thought,

Much safer in the evening light,

and turned the TV on.

ESPN
included in the price. How nice.

And just in time to see

the Bears kick off.

How nice.

And what a game it was.

Dear Charlotte didn't see the time slip by

She chewed her lipstick off at third and one.

And scratched her nails to shreds

at fourth and goal.

At half time she took off her wig

and pantyhose

and popped the top

on one more bud for you.

Who knows

what might have been

if Charlotte had not fumbled on that night.

You see,

the game plan doesn't always go as planned,

and armchair quarterbacks in heels

may fill the stands

But though they may not play

the odds are high

they'll dress out on another day.