So this morning, I was leaning over the stove, watching water boil. I had decided not to blog because I had overslept most of my solitary time. But more to the point, when I turned on Blogspot, I felt this sudden sense of “Oh no, not this again! Another photograph of something I saw, another outrageous comment by Bagman, something too proper from
I remember asking myself the same question about the time I realized I was addicted to rum and coke and Ballentine Pale India Ale.
Outside the window, I caught the gruff yet melodious voice of Bagman, singing from inside the Porta-Potty where
Karen called out from the bathroom. “Mark!” I knew she wanted something. She always uses my actual name when she wants something. Otherwise she calls me Honey, Sweetie, or Turkey Butt. I checked the water. She called again, “What are you doing?!”
I considered calling back, “Writing flirtatious love notes to women around the world!” But, having better sense than that, I called back, “Making Jello!” (We are at war, remember, with the Baby Ruth Infidels.)
She materialized somehow in the kitchen next to me, making me relieved that I wasn’t actually flirting on Blogspot. “Does this look okay?”
She was wearing checked pants that came below the knee and a red shirt. “You look great,” I said. I was trying to remember if they were called culottes or whether that was an actual word and if I knew how to spell it.
“Do the colors match?”
“You look great,” I said, thinking to myself that she looked a little bit like Annette Funicello from American Bandstand. But I have learned that there are some questions like “Does this look okay?” and “Did you like dinner?” that make it real easy for me to dig myself into a hole real quick. And I sometimes forget that the first rule when you find yourself in a hole is to stop digging. “You look really great,” I said, hoping that by adding the word “really,” the hole would not appear under my feet.
She dematerialized again. I began stirring the boiling water into the bowl of powdered Jello. I imagined myself to be Julia Child, who I once met – food for another future Blog. I also asked myself why she asks me about clothes when I don’t even buy my own and have less fashion sense than the Taliban. The only time I ever watched fashion shows on the Style Channel was to look at the models’ legs.
I decided that I would not post a blog today but would just go on to work. Sliding the bowl of Jello into the refrigerator, the thought struck me that I’d probably stop at the Convenience Store on the way to work and get a candy bar.
“You look great,” I said to
I threw on some clothes without worrying about the colors and headed for the door. I stopped to pet Sally who gave me an adoring look. “You look great,” I said to her. She wagged her tail.
In the car, I turned on the radio. It was, of course, the Rolling Stones.
Jaded, Jaded, Badoobi.