MONKEYSAYS

WHAT DO I GET?

When FW and I decided to split up, officially and for real, there came the ritual known formally as The Dividing Up Of The Stuff.

For the most part, this went pretty well. FW had always had a pretty good handle on our stuff. She knew where everything came from, she knew who bought what for whom. She also had (somewhat presciently, it seemed) always insisted that we keep our books and our music collection unmerged. One Buzzcocks CD of unknown provenance was disputed, but I commandeered it.

As for the rest: There was enough furniture to go around. And there were enough extras, duplicates, or different versions of the common household stuff to forestall any problems. She wanted the espresso machine, I took the regular coffee maker. I wanted the toaster oven, she was happy with just the toaster. And so it went, down through the dishes, the mugs, even the cutlery.

It was one of the more civilized afternoons we had spent together in quite some time.

There was one final matter.

"Who gets the friends?" FW asked.

I'm sorry," I said. "But I'll be keeping them."

"That hardly seems fair," FW said.

"You've got a whole new crowd," I said. "You have them."

"But you want nothing to do with them," FW said. "I'm talking about all the friends we made in common, over the years."

I thought on this for a minute.

"You can take Jurvoz," I said. "I've had enough of him."

"How do I go about it?" FW asked.

"I'm not sure," I said. "Maybe you can have your lawyer send him a letter."

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I guess the lawyer never got around to it. I'm stuck with Jurvoz to this day.