If you heard the following conversation would you…
a) Call the closest psychiatric ward?
b) Check that the person wasn’t running a fever?
c) Not say anything but look at the person, wondering whether or not they were bordering on the edge of sanity?
d) Just go about eating dinner like everything was perfectly normal?
Now keep in mind, this is not made up. This is a real, actual, one-sided conversation:
“No! Don’t you dare drip over to that roll. The gravy must remain only on the turkey. It’s okay if it makes its way over to the stuffing but no gravy on the roll.” Pause. “Wait. I will save you from the evil gravy. Here, sit on my napkin where you will stay nice and dry.”
If you picked “d” then you must be a member of my family or someone who has known me for a long, long time.
Last night Frank & I were watching TV where the conversation had turned to something about someone’s wife must be cheating & she’s a slut and has a secret bank account where she’s stashed thousands of dollars. (This may seem like a complete tangent but stay with me. It’s not.)
I turned to Frank and said, “I’m not a slut. I’m not having an affair with anyone. I don’t have a secret bank account. I’m sorry that I’m so boring.”
Pause.
“No, wait. I’m not boring. I keep you entertained all the time with my lively, interesting conversational skills.” (Did you catch how that’s not a tangent because it goes back to the wacky things that just spew out of my mouth?)
Well, that seals the deal; I am officially a member of your family because d) is the only answer to a completely normal dinner conversation with the gravy, such as the one you mentioned. If Bill were alive, he would regale you with the story of the time we were out to dinner and, in putting the pepper on my sandwich, said, “Now, THAT’S a nice piece of lettuce.” Ya know…because it was crisp and fresh and exactly the right size to fit the sandwich rather than flopping out all over the edges. He never, ever let me forget the night I talked to my sandwich, and made a habit thereafter of enquiring as to the niceness of the lettuce. So, I understand completely about the gravy and the roll. How can one mop up the gravy with the roll if the gravy has already infiltrated the roll prematurely? It’s just not right.
I KNEW you weren’t a slut who is having an affair and stashing thousands in a secret account. Anybody with offspring still in college has absolutely nothing to stash, and is still too busy to have time to be a slut. I don’t even have time to be a slut, although I’d love to give it a try sometime. But what I really want is the thousands to stash in a secret account. Too bad I don’t even have anything to add to the not-so-secret account!
As you can probably tell from this long-winded comment, my mind has completely gone over to the dark side. Sociology and Humanities have turned me into a blithering idiot–and a busy blithering idiot at that! Thanks for not abandoning me; you and Katy are da best, and I promise I’ll get back to commenting normally (whatever that may be) soon. As I told Katy, DON’T LEAVE ME (as I lie on the floor and clutch at your leg as you try to walk away…). I just wish I could figure out a way to be able to comment to you from my work computer. Unfortunately, the “technological idiot” thing once again is a factor.
To answer the question you asked on Saturday…19. My Mom was 19 when she had me in September, 1956; didn’t turn 20 until January, 1957. WHOA! I can’t even imagine. But, for many girls back in those days, that was just the way you did things. You graduated from high school, you got married, you had babies, you lived everafter. Some happily, some not so much. I CANNOT EVEN IMAGINE, but I guess I’m fortunate that she did it that way
.