Lake Only For the Love of God

When you have CRS disease, old laughs are new laughs.


Recently I had to grab something from the back bedroom, where I found something I hadn't seen in a while - my husband's ugliest pair of jeans:

It appears that a small animal has begun to eat the pants, starting at the leg bottoms. I hate these jeans. Besides being stained and worn out, they droop on Mike's body like they don't want to stay there anymore.

This morning, when I moved the jeans to the side, something caught my eye. There was a large, careless human scrawl on the inside back pocket. I thought, That's a weird marketing ploy - scribbling in jeans like those sayings inside bottle caps and chocolate wrappers.

Then I looked closer and read the words: "LAKE ONLY FOR THE LOVE OF GOD."

I started laughing. CRS strikes again. (If you're under age fifty, you may not know the "Can't Remember Stuff" problem.) 

I laughed because I realized the scrawl was mine. I had written those words.

I don't remember when I took a Sharpie to Mike's wardrobe, but I'm sure it was after I had marveled at the ugliness of those jeans in their ever-falling-off state on the body of my dear husband. In a moment of desperation, I must have grabbed the marker and scratched the message.

I didn't want to see those pants again. But if I had to see them, at least let it be up north. On summer weekends. On Little Green Lake. At our house trailer. In the trailer court. Where life is always very, very casual.

"The Shack on Little Green"

Later that day, I showed Mike the jeans.

"Do you remember this?" I asked, pointing to the inside-pocket plea.

"Sure, I laugh at that every time I wear 'em," he said.

"Why are these pants at home and not at the lake?"

"Because I like to hang out in them."

And that was that. Silly me.

Mike wearing those jeans in better days - with our sons

Gail Grenier is the author of Dog Woman, Don't Worry Baby, Calling All Horses, and Dessert First, all available from Amazon.com.