To Rosie

Oscar night leaves me feeling that people should be thanked.

We are in the final moments of school break. For me, this means days and days of parenting, nights and nights without sex.

I could not have survived it alone.

First of all, I would like to thank my kids, for being so easy to entertain, and for being so willing to spend most of it indoors, away from snow, chill winds, and awful public art in Central Park.

So many to thank. But above all, I don’t think I could have made it so well without the tender ministrations of my darling Rosie Palms.

Oh Rosie, my Rosie, may I extol your charms to all who listen?

Rosie, who first came to me as a lad, soaped and soaking in a tub during sixth grade, as I flipped through Cosmopolitan magazine.

Rosie, who remained steadfast and true, as I fumbled my way through early romances, always there to pick up where others left off.

Rosie, my faithful mistress during my marriage, patient and understanding when I had so little time for her, obliging when I could afford a longer tete-a-tete.

Rosie, content when I pictured her as male or female, shifting between Ann-Margret or Keanu Reeves, my memories as Debra or Allan.

Rosie, my sidekick who is happy to put me to bed, or to wake me, picturing my past or my future.

Always a lefty, when I am a righty.

Rosie honey, you done me good. Here’s to our future.

Music swells.