Smooth fella

Burt falls in love easily. Thanks to Capgras Syndrome, I am one of dozens of Tamaras in his life.

A new me surfaces on many a morning. There is no convincing him I am the “real” the “original” the “favorite” wife.

This is especially so after lover boy introduces himself as single or single-and-hates-his-wife.

I stick to my story. We’re married for all these years, after a 2 year engagement.

My name is Tamara.  I share his last name, which I took when we married.

[Aside: I put our ketubah front and center to prove our marriage. This may save me the pain of having to get a copy of our marriage certificate.]

These facts alter nothing of his narrative.

He is immediately smitten. The latest wife is invaluable to his well-being. We start from there.

Note that I do not contradict the prevailing line of his insights.

The funniest part of his retort explaining the many facets of Tamara-dom is unleashed each day.

Funnily enough, I am somewhat miffed by his explanation.

There were so many who wanted jobs and to live here that the bosses said ok, but you shall all be named Tamara. [This had something to do with lack of space, I gather.] We’ll give you a “second name” later if you wish at no charge. “What you didn’t ask for one?”

Interesting, huh?