Crowded

by Jesse Coffey


One

Hello. My name is Joe Blazer. I'm a male pegasus. I live with a large family up in Manehattan, with 16 people. Yes, the children count in that total. I have 5 kids running amok. Their names are Lacy, Timmy, Maxie, Adam, and Eddie. And I'm the one who got my wife into having them all. Me and my horse---

''Why the heck do you want to bring THAT thing up anyway?'' my wife asked me in this introduction to my life. I sigh and I tell her, ''Whatever.''

Well, now it's six o'clock. The Manehattan Eye Exam is at my doorstep. I write for that paper. I write about whatever takes place down on Bridleway. My wife doesn't give a damn about that, but I do.

My kids are already out of bed and roughhousing. My two gals are playing with their pony toys, while my guys are playing with their robot toys. Transformers, they call 'em. As one of my gals is combing a pony toy, in comes one of the boys to stack a Transformer on top of that pony's stable. That gal then throws that goddamn robot toy off the toy stable. The boy proceeds to put the stupid robot thing on top of the stupid pony thing in a manner that suggests that they really like to make ---

''Shut up Joe. Now let's go downstairs. Breakfast is ready.''

UGH! Fine, Marta. You win.

In case you don't know, Marta Vladim-Blazinsky is the little Jewish mare that I, the little Jewish stallion named Joseph Edward Blazinsky, married one fine little evening in 1976. Down the stairs I go singing Hava nagila, hava nagila, hava nagila . . .

Our family's breakfast is the typical Scrambled Eggs and No Bacon type. We're not allowed to eat ham, and bacon is ham at least to us. It's funny because Paul McCartney, whom I very well like, once had Scrambled Eggs in mind while trying to write the song ''Yesterday.''

''Uh sir . . . that's very off-topic''.

Marta, please.

''Mmm! This is quite nice!'' So says Marta's little grandma Susannah. ''How did you come up with this?''

I said, ''Like you don't know how Scrambled Eggs are made. Well, first you crack two eggs wide open and put them into the frying pan, and next you -- ''


In comes Marta's mama Natasha to say ''Explain how they are made in a simple detail.''

I say, ''That's what I'm doing.''

Natasha says, ''It's not simple enough.''

I say, ''What I'm doing, Natasha, is explaining the situation in as simple a detail as I can tell it.''

Natasha says, ''Yeah right. All you're doing is taking unnecessarily long descriptions of what you do and selling it as simple details.''

I try to eat my breakfast as fast as I can. By now, I'm done arguing with her and that's what I tell her. The kids are off to school and I am off to The Manehattan Eye Exam.

''What the heck is The Manehattan Eye Exam?'' asks my wife.

I tell them, ''It's the paper that I work for, remember Marta?''