I hadn’t seen him in ten years. I’d forgotten what he looks like. But it was him, just like in the wedding pictures on our mantle, only denuded of color. I guess he hasn’t been able to tan.

“Dave,” I said to him, and he jumped as if I’d poked him. “Mary,” he said, and vanished.

“Mary,” he said, “you can see me! The effects have finally worn off after all these years! Thank God!” I didn’t want to tell him, but I had to. He was disappointed.

You know, he spent most of the the first five years frantically looking for a cure. Then I put my foot down over the lasers (they blew every fuse in the house and destroyed our monthly power bills). Still, sometimes I hear him fumbling around his basement lab.

You think I’m a bad wife. Was I the one who encouraged his mad science? Who was it that suggested he ask my brother for a job? One of us needs to be a breadwinner, I’m sorry.

“Well,” he said, “maybe the effect is slowly wearing off and I’m becoming visible again!”

And maybe monkeys will fly out of my ass.