Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Tips for Dealing with Retired Husbands

...well, at least my retired husband.

I thought when husbands retire, the biggest problem is boredom. They have too much time on their hands, then they have to start projects around the house or have affairs.

I haven't seen that with Gary. Instead, he has issues because now that he's retired he doesn't get to be an expert any more. He hates not knowing as much or more than the next guy, and now the next guy is usually an actual expert - a car mechanic, a doctor, a cable installer.

So now I have scheduled into every day a fifteen minute period of sitting on a footstool literally at my husband's knee so he can explain things to me.

If I know we're going to be encountering an expert I try to remind Gary that the expert is only an expert in one field - when it comes to breadth of knowledge Gary wins, with his expertise on physics, animal behavior, cooking, etc..

It's exhausting, but better than having him start projects around the house.

Pithy

Years ago, I was having a conversation with a teenager, who was indignant that a friend's father didn't believe her about something. She said, "We kept trying to convince him but he just wouldn't listen to us."

I said, "Oh, so you were lying."

"No."

"Yes you were."

"Well, fine, yes."

"Only liars try to ‘convince' people. If you're honest, you just say the truth. There's no convincing." Then I tried to put it into a memorable adage, but the best I could do was "Liars convince, non-liars ... people telling the truth ... honest people ... just convey the information."

Not as catchy as I would have liked, but better than my next alternative, which was "Read Act I of King Lear" (also not catchy).

The whole problem is there is no one-word equivalent for "Liar." Why is that? I remember a rule from college that if you are name-calling, and there's no racial or sexual equivalent to a name you are calling, then you should just shut up immediately. We discussed how there's no W-word. (Though when I was in college no one said the phrase "N-word.” The person who suggested "Cracker" was an equivalent term was laughed at.)

I finally settled on "Liars convince, others convey," but that was well after the time I needed the pithy adage.

Weekly Paint Progress 8/29

Gary and the Stone Face went from this:

to this ...

The things on his face are the shadows from his 1980's aviator glasses.

Now I want to put the blue back in the sweatshirt.

Right of Way

Gary and I were sitting at a three-way stop sign, where we had arrived at the same time as one other car.

"Go!" Gary said, "You have the right of way!"

I went, while saying, "Why? Why do I have the right of way?"

"Because you were the person on the right." And of course with the way were were configured that was true.

The I became suspicious. I know he knows more about traffic rules than I do, but I worry sometimes because a lot of his right-of-way answers seem to hinge on the fact that the word "right" is in the answer. People making a right turn go first. People in the right lane go first. Yield to the person on the right.

Then he threw in a curve ball. "Even though he was closest to the intersection."

"How is that possible? We were both sitting at the intersection. How could one of us be closer?"

"He was right where the two roads meet, and you were on a two lane road so you were one lane further away."

Other women have to worry about finances when their partner dies, I'm going to have to study up on what to do at a stop sign.

The Happy Tale of the Christy is Fifty Party

We left the Llama party, intent on being On Time for our next party: Christy's 50th Birthday at Riley's Pub downtown.

On the drive, Gary asked how I knew Christy. For fifteen minutes I gave him what I now call:

The Christory 

Christy commented on this blog from the early days. In some odd synchronicity she hired Rachel, who knew me from the BNL Cruise board, which made me feel like a celebrity. Then I went to speak to some of the people on her staff and she and Rachel gave me a life-sized skull that I still keep in my bathroom.

In 2012, she stopped blogging on casachristy.blogspot.com, when Facebook won her over. She friended me, and Gary, and took on all the required reading that friending Gary entails.

=========================

Even though we were delayed fifteen minutes by accident traffic, the party was still going on (any llamas that might have been there before had left).

I was a little worried that I might not recognize her, but then she came up to me and hugged me, and that was wonderful. It was a lovely party, and quite made up for missing the llamas earlier.

The Sad, Sad, Tale of the Llama Party

Friend Tiffany rented a pet farm and had it brought to a nearby park. Llamas! Alpacas! Goats! Friends! This was going to be epic! I prepared. I put it in my calendar. I brought along four ponchos, because as we know, alpacas spit.

I wanted Gary to be there, and Gary wanted to be there, but Gary's bowels wanted us to be late. I was understanding. We still had time. We were about fifteen minutes late out of the gate.

I had already plugged in the address, so I clicked on the address in Calendar (See figure A) and got the directions in Maps (See figure B).

Figure A! Highway K!

But notice, Figure B! Highway D!

Yessss. I clicked on the right address on the right highway and lying Apple Maps took me to the right address on the wrong highway.

I even said to Gary, "This is so odd, I was sure that we were supposed to go to the end of 367, but I guess this is some better way."

After a long time we arrived at 3589 Highway D (which is a turnoff that leads to a locked gate), investigated, found the problem, and headed back to the right location. Where we found our friends... leaving. No llamas. Llamas all gone.

They told us how wonderful the llamas were, and that did not make me feel any better.

Gary said, "But at least it makes for a good story, right? It was an adventure."

This also did not make me feel any better, but at least he tried.

Overstock

A few days ago, CNN promised me some huge breaking news and instead delivered a mentally ill person who happened to be the former CEO of Overstock.com.

I find it really troubling that at no point did a producer pull the plug on this interview. Evidently Chris Cuomo's relatives are all in perfect mental and physical health, so he doesn't know what a bipolar episode or a fugue state sounds like. 

Afterward, he and Don Lemon discussed if the man was - I think the word was 'cuckoo' - and they tried to give some credence to the man's story.

I say a real journalist should have checked the names and checked the evidence before putting it on the air, not after, but this is the age we live in.

Opossum

See this animal? What type of animal is it?

Gary is convinced it's a rat. After he's seen 10,000 opossums coming to eat at the Wildlife Buffet, he looks at this one and thinks it's a rat.

I said, "We can't be the ones who draw rats to the neighborhood. That's it for the - "

"It's a white rat. Look how clean and well-groomed it is. It's someone's pet that got out."

"It's just a skinny hyperactive opossum. We've had white opossums befo - "

"That's a pet white rat. Rats make great pets."

"Do you want a pat rat? Is that what this - "

"I know white rats, I worked with them in biology class. Some kid in our neighborhood is letting his rat run free at night. Rats bond really tightly with humans. He's coming here to eat and then going back to his human family like a cat."

He did not say the rat was named "Remy" or anything in particular, he did not give it any laboratory escapee back story, but he would not budge on the rat designation.

I then had to research the distinctions between rats and opossums. Evidently opossums have a flat back, while rats are hunched, and opossums snouts are longer that rat snouts. Granted, it isn't exhibiting typical opossum behavior. It does seem a bit furtive. This opossum has a little spring in its step. But, how would any animal act that just discovered a giant pile of manna?

Gary’s New Driving Role

Gary has made some poor driving decisions lately. They haven’t been unsafe, just alarming. He gets distracted, especially if he’s busy declaiming about something, and he turns off his brain and drives by muscle memory. There are stoplights near our house, and if no one else is around to follow, he will stop at the stoplight, which is fine, only often the stoplight is green. I don’t react well when he does this. 

I am happy to say that he’s decided I can take over driving duties when we’re together. He can expound and I can drive though the green lights. Granted, he feels a little useless, but then it occurred to him that if there is an accident, the passenger can hurl himself between the driver and the steering wheel. That way, if the airbag doesn’t deploy, Gary will absorb the impact.

He calls this “being the bloodbag.”

Weekly Paint Progress 8/22

I made some progress on the Gary Stone Face Mashup.
From this:

to this:

Of course now it's in two different styles so I'll have to get around that somehow, and the illicit carbon-paper tracing technique throws one into a paint-by-numbers mentality. It'll work out. Gary's sweatshirt will almost certainly turn into a cousin of the stone face, with the palette knife and the pinky-grey color. I'm keeping it loose, though, and that was my goal with this one.

Huh. Gary’s head should cast a shadow on the stone face.

I'm keeping myself accountable. Expect one day a week to be Paint Progress day here.

Gary and His New Friends

Last week we went out to lunch. I went to the bathroom, came back, and found Gary talking to all six people at the next table.

"YOU KNOW SOME PEOPLE WON'T EAT BOLOGNA BUT HOW COULD YOU NOT EAT IT HERE IT'S REALLY GREAT EVERYTHING HERE IS GREAT." (Salt and Smoke on St. Charles Main Street, if you're wondering.)

I sat down. "I see you've met my husband." They laughed, but they seemed happy that he joined their conversation. I mean, it's not like this is England, or some other place where strangers keep to themselves.

Then, a few days later, we were at Waffle House. (Lots of meals out because Gary has evidently lost interest in being the family chef.) He was paying the bill at the counter and said to a little girl, in a normal tone so as not to frighten her, "I see you have some bacon there."

The girl said nothing, because what do you say to "I see you have some bacon there?"

He continued, "Do you like bacon? It's good isn't it?"

The girl said nothing, because her father was right there and his body language said, "Stranger Danger."

According to Gary, the girl gave him "a look" that said, "This IS some damn fine bacon, but still I'm here with my estranged Dad at a Waffle House and we haven't said anything to each other this whole meal, so I'm not going to chat YOU up."

(I added on that last part. According to Gary, the girl just gave him a "wise" look that indicated the "appreciated the bacon.")

Still! I mean! Engaging strangers in conversation about pork products! Such behavior, when he could just have a blog.

Pants Demographic

Remember these pants? I bought them to wear to the opera, the same day I bought the long vest and the duster and the colorful kimono.

I loved wearing them to the opera, because they dance and move as I trudge along. I hadn't worn them since the opera, but last month I wore them to work.

You know how friends will compliment you when you try something new? You wear your hair curly, then the one day you straighten it people like your hair? Then you wear it straight until the one day you let it curl and then it's all compliments, and you think, "pick a lane, people."

I was expecting compliments on the unique pants, because they are different, and I heard nothing all day. But then I was walking away from the receptionist and she called out "Cute Pants!" so I had to whirl around and come back to tell her the story of how I essentially bought them off the body of the Dillards' saleswoman.

That made me bold enough to wear them a few weeks later. This time the cashier at lunch and a stranger in the elevator liked them.

I wore again them last week, and perhaps I'm more confident, but the pants got compliments from another elevator stranger, and the new hiree.

When I walked off the elevator after compliment number one, and then new hiree said she liked the pants, I thought, "You have good taste, new hiree, and also I should learn your name, and why is it that every person who likes these pants is African-American?"

All black women: the receptionist on the first day I wore them, the cashier and the stranger the next time, and now another stranger, and the hiree. "That is weird," I thought, "But maybe my Caucasian friends are just too uptight to compliment these pants."

I performed demographic research the rest of the day. I encountered three more black friends: two liked the pants. I encountered at least five white women, none of them liked the pants, even when I swiveled my hips to make the pants dance and looked at them expectantly.

This of course made me love the pants more. I continued the experiment the next day. I theorized that perhaps white women just freak out if someone wears something non-conformist, so I wore my colorful kimono to work. One white man joked they wouldn't let him wear his robe to work, but then five white women, some strangers, said they liked it.

I wish I could say that I kept this to myself as it was happening, but I truly did quiz the last two black friends who liked the pants. They had no answers other than to indicate that I shouldn't get a complex about it.

I cannot wait to wear these pants again.

 

Sick Sink

I was cleaning out the refrigerator and found a Tupperware dish containing half cherries and half green mold. (Optimistically, half-full of cherries.)

Gary saw we dumping the glop down the garbage disposal.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? YOU CAN'T DO THAT! IT POISONS THE SINK!"

I stopped. "What are you talking about?"

"YOU CAN'T PUT THAT IN THE SINK! YOU'LL MAKE THE SINK SICK!"

I stared blankly at him. Then I turned on the disposal and ran the water. Then I lifted my left eyebrow at him.

"THAT DOESN'T DO ANYTHING! WE HAVE MOLD MOLECULES IN OUR SINK NOW!"

Seriously. Does he have a point? Should I have put the green mold in the trash? Burned it? Put the Tupperware in an autoclave? What would a normal person do?

New Treat for Me

Evidently Red Lobster heard me complaining that all their crab is in the shell, and they have invented a treat to ensure my loyalty.

I don't think they're really trying to make something to please me. I know that because they only promise a "crab-and-seafood blend," but they're closer. It’s no Bailey’s ice cream, but I appreciate the effort.

New Treat for Gary

What is Gary's favorite drink? Bailey's Irish Cream.

What is Gary's favorite treat? Premium ice cream.

What have they invented just so Gary can have both his favorite things at once?

The box claims that "For this indulgent treat, we topped a rich dark chocolate cookie with luscious Irish Cream infused ice cream swirled with silky chocolate fudge then dipped it in decadent dark chocolate with a white chocolate drizzle."

He even prefers dark chocolate. He is in heaven.

Each contains less than 0.5 percent alcohol. How many would he have to eat to get drunk? He could do it.

Federal Spending

The other day I was listening to a news report on the proposed federal spending, and it occurred to me -- since both parties sneer at the opposition’s spending  -- I thought I should look at some pie charts for different adminstrations and see how they compare.

I compared Federal Spending for 1998 (Clinton), 2009 (Obama), and 2018 (Trump). I know they're too small to read. You could expand them, but why bother, because they are all exactly the same damn pie.

Clinton

Obama

Trump

(Pies from USGovernmentSpending.com)

Most categories varied by 1-2%, generally. The biggest leap was for health care, from 22% (Clinton), 26% (Obama), to 27% (Trump). Still, when you think of the healthcare debate, do you think they're haggling over 5%? No, they make it sound like those Obamacare pie slices are Pac-Man sized.

The one that varied most was military / defense spending, ranging from 19% (Clinton), 26% (Obama), to 22% (Trump).  The 7% jump from Clinton to Obama was at least statistically significant. It's the only visible change in the pies above. But still, you have two wars and only bump up spending 7%? Pfft.

I mean, I didn't think I would find a giant pie slice labeled "Welfare queens!" next to one for "Thousand dollar hammers!" but I thought I'd see some dramatic variance between parties in power.

I'm sure there's some subtlety I'm missing. I suspect that I’m not looking at only discretionary spending — but still, looking at only one part misses the big picture, and it’s too much like looking at a line graph with an axis that doesn’t start at zero. 

Odd Things You Find on Facebook

Okay, I like organization. I like upcycling. I thought I'd like this artice I saw on Facebook: 30 New Ways to Use Your Old Stuff.

This article was an atrocity. There were two suggestions right off that claimed to improve junk drawer organization using teacup saucers or clean tuna fish cans.

Well yes, but if you have so much space you can take up an entire drawer to display your paperclips and buttons, and then leave 1/3 of it empty so it doesn't look "cluttered," then just throw that crap out or give it to the servants. I mean, perhaps actual clutter has to be organized, but a half cup of buttons do not need to be organized.

As for the Tin Herb garden, plants grow. That basil and thyme is going to take over your kitchen.

And the final abomination: shoes hanging decoratively on the wall. Clearly they've never been worn. Do you have colorful unworn shoes? Okay. Give them to the poor. Don’t hang them on your wall. That's just nasty.

Buffalo

Recently I had buffalo mozzarella at Friend Anne's, who taught me this fun fact:

Buffalo mozzarella? Not invented in Buffalo, New York. (Buffalo chicken wings were, though).

Nor is it made from the milk of the American buffalo.

It is made from the milk of the Italian water buffalo. Water buffalo like this bad boy. I like the way water buffalo cheese tastes, and this guy enjoyed my flavor.

 

Paint Update

So back at the end of April, I gave up on my oil painting of Gary in Bath at this stage:

The original looked like this:

Since then, I have a) decided the previous one was a "study" and b) decided I'm painting, not drawing, and that God invented carbon paper for a reason.

So, after I repositioned some things I traced Gary's face on the canvas. I got this far on my second attempt:

For the stone face I used the palette knife (embiggen to see), because God knows I wouldn't want to focus on reinforcing the skills I have.

I haven't touched it for two weeks. I suspect that's because I'm at the point where I don't hate it, so it can only get worse. Of course, now that I look at it, the right side of the stone face is too dark and small, somehow, and even though I traced it, the mouth on the stone face is skewed down on the left side.

I’m also working on this painting I did based on Friend #2's photograph on the left below. I hated this last week, but now it has grown on me.

Oh, wait, I can see two things wrong right now. I hate it again.

Past Birthdays

I was trying to remember what Gary got me for my birthday last year. I know I get an entire month of playing the Birthday Month card, and using it to win every argument, and that Gary does all the chores, but it is nice to unwrap one thing.

Then I remembered I have a blog, so I can look at a list.

• 2019 - We ate lunch at Salt and Smoke, a trendy BBQ place. He still has three weeks to present a present.
• 2018 -  iPhone
• 2017 - No gift listed, just whining about how I've done everything new there is to do and it is time to turn old.
• 2016  - Briefly really wanted a Sodastream, and got a pie carrier and a sex toy (as you do).
• 2015 - I don't know what happened but I was just really cranky.
• 2014 - This was the month Ferguson happened, so any silliness about birthdays fell off the blog, maybe?
• 2013 – No gift, but many demands were met: shelves assembled, art museum visited.
• 2012 – I remember that I spoke on a panel, but forgot that I got an iPad.
• 2011 – This was all about the food. Gary bought me food every day, and we ate Peking duck, which requires forethought so that is a Big Deal.
• 2010 – Gary did selective weeding, and I'm guessing that since we went to Paris the next month there was no gift.
• 2009 – I got some type of electronic for "me." I suspect a new TiVo. 
• 2008 – No gift listed, only that the Wii Fit wore a birthday hat on my birthday. Google changes the doodle on your birthday now, so it's quaint that I liked the Wii Fit programming.
• 2007 – My gift was the pink computer I am using right now to type this. I have had to fight to keep this 12 year old laptop.
• 2006 – No gift listed, only that the Friends tried to embarass me at Ozzies (yes, the long-defunct Ozzies).

You know what? Seeing it all listed out, I realize that with the exception of the pie carrier, Gary only buys me tech for my birthday. (For those saying, "What about the sex toy," it was iPad-enabled.)

Well, I might as well accept it. I'm going to the internet to see what new tech there is that I can ask for.

Chore Catalyst

I’m quite delighted the toilet has finally been installed. I’ve been trying to work out what magic led to Gary knuckling down and calling the plumber.

I know you are wondering, “Does she not know how to use a phone and call a plumber?” It’s just that house maintenance duties are his, and I know how it would make me feel if he ham-fisted his way into something that’s “my” job. I know some people feel nagging is necessary, but I avoid it - at times I will try to employ subliminal reminders, like: “Oh, just put the mail on top of the toilet tank in the foyer.” 

So, here’s the timeline. I need to record these events so I can try to reproduce them the next time a Gary project happens.

• Mid-April: toilet is purchased and the three resulting boxes are unpacked in various spots in the house.
• Late April: driveway contractor is contacted and contracted. They will be coming out in early July.
• Early May: crack appears in basement, crack repair is contacted. They will come out "some time this summer."
• May, June: n o t h i n g happens on the toilet front, because he has three balls in the air now. I know at work I can only juggle five projects at once.
• Early-late July: driveway is put in, so no trucks can visit for a month while the driveway hardens.

This is how I handle projects. 

• Sunday, Gary complained he couldn't get the Tennis Channel anymore. I said, "I haven't had the right channels since the royal wedding. I believe you've been meaning to call them."
• Monday at four p.m., while Gary was taking a nap, I called Charter and they came out that evening and it was fixed by 6 pm.

And I believe that's why on Tuesday Gary called a plumber and the toilet was installed on Wednesday. I shamed him. Shaming: just as emasculating as nagging, but much more effective.

Toilet Birthday

Today is my 57th birthday. (Or, as it shall be known, The Day After Gary Said, "Your birthday's on the 27th, right?")

It's okay if he forgets, because he already gave me a great (and pricey) gift on Wednesday: he got the second Toto toilet installed. This time it cost three times as much, which is no doubt why we couldn't get the previous installer to come back.

No more three boxes full of toilet parts cluttering the house, no more upside-down toilet in the bedroom, no more surprising variety in toilet heights. It's all I have wanted since April.

Yard Weeds

I have noticed a new weed poking up through our lawn and landscaping.

You know what it is? It's a peanut plant. For just a moment I actually thought, "Huh. How did I get peanuts in my yard?" 

Of course, I didn't put the peanuts in the yard, Gary gave them to the squirrels and raccoons, and the squirrels and raccoons stashed them away for retirement. I suppose they haven't sprouted in previous years because it hasn't been rainy enough to soak through the shells and germinate the nut.

Though the squirrels ignore them, the raccoon use the plants as little markers where they can go and dig up nutritious peanut sprouts. After that, the mowers take care of them before they can mature enough for nuts.

(I might take one from the landscaping, protect it, and then see if I can get it to grow enough to sprout nuts. If the animals are delighted enough perhaps I can make Gary into a peanut farmer.)

Onions

So, as I say, we have a problem with onions. We love them, but they make Gary's eyes burn.

It's the gasses that make you cry, evidently, and when I chop up a gallon of them as I do when I'm making onion soup, even I will cry.

One thing I did the last time I caramelized onions is that I tested all the anti-tear strategies for cooking onions.

I had already used the two most popular: cutting off the base entirely and using sweet onions. Using a candle to create a chimney effect? That only worked in conjunction with using the vent over the cooktop, and the vent just vents back into the house.

You know what really works to keep the gasses out of your eyes? Goggles. I went out and bought swim goggles.

Works fine if you are the one cutting the onions, but what if you are Gary, trapped in a house with toxic onion gasses?

I went out again and bought Gary some swim goggles too. I think that will fix the problem. Also, he looks like a superhero.

Sneaky Stuff

One week ago I took a vacation day on a Thursday. Why Thursday? Because that's the day Gary is out of the house, and I can do all the surreptitious sneaky stuff I can't do while Gary's around.

I rushed around and I ...

Painted the Foundation. This was tiresome. Due to time constraints I had to do this one while he was still here. That meant I had to tape off the basement windows, because he couldn't have slept through window removal, and then he'd be up and giving his expert opinion.

Caramelized Onions. I can't cook onions when he's here because if I do he spends all night moaning about his eyes and the pain, and you burned something, Ellen, do you think I can't smell the burnt onions? Somehow, he routinely cooks onions with no ill effects.

Painted the Back Door. To paint the back door one must open the back door, which is not allowed, because FLIES FLIES YOU ARE LETTING IN THE FLIES.

Killed the Flies. About six flies did accumulate in the house. I killed three, Gary killed one, and I don't know where the others are. I hope they plague him.

 

Review: Once Upon a Time ... In Hollywood

The beginning of Once Upon a Time ... In Hollywood is intriguing, and very Tarantino. The atmosphere and music are dead-on. (For days now, Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show has been stuck in my head. It goes away sometimes, but then someone will mention babies or old ladies and it will come back.) But, a movie can only spend so long establishing the atmosphere before it becomes tedious.

That brings us to the middle, which ... which is beyond tedious. Tedissimus. A great deal of Tarantino-like flashbacks and Pulp Fictiony side stories, and I felt all the cutting just served to undercut the plot. In the middle, I sat there and sighed and wished it was over.

The end, of course, is where it all comes together in a very grisly fashion, with a callback to another famous Tarantino movie. Does it make up for the middle? Well ... at the time it was very satisfying, but now a few days later I can't say it was worth it.

 

 

Celebrate

Last Saturday I found Gary and sang (to the tune of Celebrate by Kool and the Gang):

"Cel-e-brate drive-way, comeon!"

At long last (specifically one month) Gary has deemed the driveway accessible to all. He says he is now comfortable if a truck gets on it, even a plumbing truck. He claims he will call a plumbing company soon so someone can install the upside-down toilet.

Changes

I was driving down Lindbergh and I went past all the typical landmarks: the airport, the Andes building where Mom worked, the Monsanto exit - and in place of the Monsanto exit I saw this:

I mean, I knew it was coming, now that Monsanto (universally hated evil corporation) has merged with Bayer (universally hated evil corporation). But man, I was not prepared for the sign to change. First TWA disappears, now Big Momma Monsanto. I mean, In-Bev bought Anheuser-Busch, but at least the Highway 40 eagle still flaps his illuninated wings through an enormous letter A.

 

Dolman Sleeves

A saleswoman approached me while I was looking at clothes. Because I was at the swanky Plaza Frontenac, it somehow felt wrong to say,  “I’m just looking,” because of course I wasn’t just looking, I was looking and touching. I wasn’t pawing at the merchandise, in fact I was delicately holding it between thumb and index and my pinkie was upraised, because, as I say, swanky Plaza Frontenac. Plaza Frontenac, where I think “just looking” is probably frowned upon, because that’s the type of thing people without money do. 

That’s why instead of “Just looking,” I answered her with, “I’m looking for something with dolman sleeves.”

It isn’t the eighties, anymore, so this was a perfect ruse. I wish we still had dolman sleeves, or batwing sleeves, or even a generous raglan sleeve, because I am pear-shaped. But I remember when Mom’s lack of arm mobility had me looking everywhere for dolman sleeves, and they are very hard to find. 

I used that line everywhere. 

• Neiman-Marcus - puzzled, shook her head.
• Chicos - really tried, actually got me int0 a scarf/kimono top.
• Brooks Brothers - did not know what dolman sleeves were until I said “raglan” and she said, “oh, dropped sleeves.”
• Eileen Fisher - agreed they would be the place for dolman sleeves (at that point I had convinced myself I really wanted dolman sleeves), but they did have a few things with “ample sleeves.”

I couldn’t use the ruse at Williams-Sonoma, so I was honest and just said, “I’m killing time before the movie.” That broke the spell. 

Of course, they’ll remember me at Plaza Frontenac, so next time I’ll need to look for some other hopeless thing, like neon Qiana fabrics. It would be horrifying if they stocked their stores with dolman sleeves because of public demand.

Gary’s Drug Adventure

Gary's very particular about his anti-seizure medication, because he feels the effects in his brain immediately. He's finally settled on a particular generic of Tegretol. The doctors insist the generic is exactly the same as the original, but Gary claims he can tell.

The pharmacy sent him the generic this last month, only this time they sent a generic made by a different manufacturer.  Two days later Gary reported:

• Racing heart (pulse of 150)
• Uncontrollable hand twitching
• Hallucinations that biting flies were in his hair
• Hallucination that there was a snake in his pants (pause for giggling)

I wasn't around for the hallucinations: they happened while he was on the highway. I was appropriately horrified when he told me, and patient while he slept it off for two solid days. He was fine two days later, though the first day he did tell me the bathroom sink had little black bugs in it, which it does not.

At any rate, he promptly called the mail order pharmacy and they told him to put dirt in a trash bag, mix in the pills, and throw the bag away (because you can't flush drugs anymore, I suppose, or else Bug Hallucinators need the earth ritual to believe). They also made a note to never send him that particular generic again.

Little Girl

I was in a stall in the movie theater bathroom when a woman came in with her child.

"Don't touch that. Here's some paper. Don't sit on the actual toilet. I'll be in the next stall."

This always makes me feel very self-conscious. Some day I will have to try peeing in the hover position. I know no one could have a bowel movement from the hover position. Those people don't poop anywhere but home, I'm sure.

Anyway, out of us three I finished first. I washed my hands for a good sixty seconds, because I knew the mother in the stall was judging me. Then I actually dried off with the blower. I had fun watching the g-forces ripple my hand skin.

Then I turned and noticed the little girl was out and staring at me.

Then she made a little wave.

I waved back. I reminded myself that little girls who can't touch anything also can't talk to strangers, so I said nothing.

Then - she came over and hugged me! I swear, I did nothing to provoke it. I don't know if she wanted to break the awkwardness of standing in the bathroom with a stranger she couldn't talk to, or if she was being a little rebel, as if to say, "What's that, Mom, don't touch anything? I'm touching this dirty woman! Who knows where she's been!"

Then Mom burst out of her stall with, "DON'T GO ANYWHERE WITHOUT ME," I suppose because the child had spent a moment without an order, so I left. But it was sweet.