No, I’m not hearing voices! Yes, I do know that’s the first thing you thought of.
When I was talking in a prior post about not understanding the switchboard person whenever I call Steve up in Assisi, Katy said he must have been commenting about my sexy voice. Never having heard my voice, she can keep that deluded idea. Except I’m about to destroy it. This is also the post about the comedy club nightmare because yes, the stories are linked.
Back when we were dating Frank & I went out to a comedy club with another couple. I believe the place, which no longer exists, was called The Back Barn. It did look like a barn, too. That should have been a clue, eh? We were escorted to the front. I’m thinking the person who sat us was adept at picking out good people for the comedians to goof on.
I can remember nothing about that night except for 2 events. One was the nightmare of getting picked on. The other was a very good thing. So there we are, sitting up near the front and the comedian decides to pick on me. He said a bunch of things but the one thing I remember was him making some crack that I sound like a guy.
Now that was probably one of the worst possible things he could say to me, especially when I’m there on a date. The reason is because, after years of enduring comments all through junior high, high school and beyond - things like I hold my books like a boy, I walk like a boy, I hold the wheel of the car like I’m a truck driver… yeah, that hit a bad spot.
Of course, being (counts on fingers…..) 25 years older now, I wouldn’t have taken that crap from the comedian. I’d have made wise cracks right back. But I was way shy in those days. So I was upset but we got through the night and I survived.
So - clearly I do not have a sexy voice. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I know I don’t hear my voice the way others do but let me tell ya, I hate the sound of it and I’m damn glad I don’t have to listen to myself. But, no matter what that dirt bag of comedian said, I don’t sound like a guy.
Now we get to the good part. Frank took me home. He knew I was not in a good mood. (For some odd reason, people can just tell exactly what sort of mood I’m in. I have no clue why.) He kisses me good bye and then says, “I don’t care what that moron said. Don’t let him bother you. I love you.”
What was monumental about that moment is that was the first time he said that to me. And he said it first. I don’t think I said it back to him. I think I was too shocked. I do know that my father was still up & I had to pass him in the living room and I was hoping he wouldn’t look up from his movie because I didn’t want him to see me walking by with an enormous smile on my face. That I can remember distinctly.
