“Does this dress make me look smart? I have earrings to match, if that helps my head look less round, I don’t think a giant brain could live in a perfectly round head. Too flat on top. It’s probably why I have issues with impulse control. My brain is being squished by my skull, like a Rottweiler. My granny always said I have a face like a pie pan, and that’s pretty round. I’ll bet if I lost 10 pounds I’d be less apt to touch things I’m not supposed to…”
Believe it or not, George is used to this rambling soliloquy by now. It manifests itself when I get nervous about something, usually a meeting of some sort, or something having to do with someone who makes me nervous. He does the same thing I’ve watched his dad do to his mom for the 25 years I’ve known them, he tunes out for 10 minutes at a time, and tunes back in to interject something “helpful” every so often.
“Babe, why don’t you take one of those muscle relaxers the doctor gave you? I think it would help.”
“Oh my Lord, that’s the worst idea ever! I’d show up like a boneless chicken, head all lolling to the side. ‘Shi dere, Shenator, exchuse my bonelesshness, but my head is really round, and it caushes problems.’ Oh my goodness,there’s no way I’m taking a muscle relaxer before the meeting.”
“Babe, it’s six days away.”
“I know. I only have six days to memorize the Constitution and decide which outfit to wear. I’m seriously considering a hat, to cover the roundness of my head. I think if I tease my hair up into a bun, I can detract from it some. I was thinking about wearing a pinstripe suit, but it might remind someone of a chain gang, and I don’t want them to think I’ve ever been on the chain gang…”
“They don’t have chain gangs in Ohio, babe.”
“I’m from Georgia, you think they’re not going to know that the minute I open my mouth? Oh my Lord, I can’t open my mouth — I sound like a drunk hillbilly. They’re gonna know I’ve got a robot tooth. I’m just going to pretend I’m mute and write everything down on a piece of nice stationary. That’ll work. I need to find some good stationary. Should I have a header printed on it? ‘From the desk of Wendy (because she’s mute) …’”
“Babe, just be yourself. You’re beautiful and smart and you don’t sound like a drunk hillbilly, unless you’re drunk.”
“Don’t put that evil on me, Ricky Bobby! You say stuff like that and I have to be it! Aaauugh! Let me be a closet troll, throw a pound of ham and a bottle of water at me once in a while! And some vodka!”
Complete, stony silence from George. I, of course, continue.
“Are you going to let me be a closet troll?”
“This seems like a trap. I’m going to forgo answering right now, and go to the parts store.”
“Get me a hat. And an I <3 Rob Portman tee-shirt. That might be a nice touch. I think I’m just going to show up in a red, white and blue ensemble of patriot-ness. I stand the chance of looking like a giant bomb pop, with a misshapen head, but maybe I can tease my hair up into a point … No, I’ll look like a conehead. ‘We are from France.’ Nope, not what needs to be conveyed. I need a copy of the Ohio revised code, too. And some vodka. No, not vodka, don’t bring vodka, bring me something to make my brain work good…”
Sometimes, getting ready to meet with your representatives is hard.