On Golden Pond
“The kind of deal,” Portia said, “where I walk away.”
“Sounds good,” Bernie said. “In theory.”
“What the hell does that mean?” said Portia.
I was kind of with her on that. Plus at that moment my mind was wandering back to the time I got nipped by a duck. We’d been working on a divorce case – we hate divorce work, me and Bernie, but our finances were a mess back then, and still are. Those Hawaiian pants … Anyway, we were out at a ranch where they had a nice little pond. I love swimming! And it was a hot day, so I jumped in for a quick dip. After a while I realized I didn’t have the pond to myself. There was this duck drifting around. A duck is a kind of bird and I don’t like birds much, but ducks like swimming and so do I, so I swam over just to … I don’t know, give the duck a friendly little bump or something. But I never got the chance because all of a sudden the duck squawked, started flapping its wings and paddling hard with its weird feet, and then zoomed right at me, opened its mouth wide – no teeth, what’s with that? – and nipped me right on the nose. More like a bite, really, even with no teeth. I’ve got teeth, big and sharp, but the next thing I knew I was swimming backward, real fast, the only backward swimming I’ve ever done.
But where were we?
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