I see ya. Come on in, if you dare. Just remember, that those who drift too close to the black hole, often become entrapped. Or to add a third metaphor, become ensnared in the web. But I digress, so do come in and make yourself at home.
If you counted on sanity, best proceed down the road and find someone else to read, since sanity has been absent from the meadow for months now as most of you know. We are operating on spit and chutzpah mostly, and fairly successfully I might add. But I digress.
I’m trying to ease you into this, so you won’t hurt yourself. So buckle up the seat belt on that chair, and don’t be drinking anything for the next few moments.
Last night, I was quietly watching TV, either Amazing Race (how bout those adorable cowboys? huh?), or Nature. In either event, my guard was down, I was relaxing in the sanctuary of my meadow with pets and husband safely and soundly inhabiting the house. Suddenly, this came forth from the Contrarian:
I think Tylenol makes me fart.
Now I ask you. What would you reply to such a statement? Assuming you just didn’t pass out from mind confusion gone tilt? Characteristically, I turned slowly (slowly I turned, step by step, inch by inch–sorry I got to channeling Lucy). With the deadpan look only I can give, I just stared at him.
This always brings forth a twinkling in his eye. Much as a cat who has swallowed the canary, the corners of his lips begin the imperceptible curl upward. He is ready to reel me in, or so he thinks.
“An improbable conclusion fit for someone who is out to create a defense to expected behavior later, no doubt,” I utter most dryly. He begins to sputter all manner of giggling, now that I have called his bluff and raised him a good deal of his remaining stack of chips.
“You are simply amazing. You once again give me the line of a lifetime.” As a writer, I’m off to the races, concocting this dialog and prose for the benefit of those lucky folks who read me with relish. I mean, you cannot make this stuff up–you know he actually said it, and you’re damn glad he don’t live in your house right?
Now all this would sound odd no doubt if you were unaware of the fact that most men, mine included, stop all semblance of propriety about three and one half hours after the vows have been said. I should have known I was in trouble when I was sagely advised early on:
It’s quite dangerous to artificially confine bodily eruptions, you know.
Now at first this was limited to sneezing. You have never heard a sneeze until you’ve heard the Contrarian give forth. I mean, distant rumblings are heard as much as ten miles away, and it’s been known to set off a warning siren now and again.
The Contrarian is required to give warning before said sneeze, though he has tried to carve out enumerable exceptions, such as “not in the same room!” and “no time.”
Little did I know that said refusal to evoke any type of modesty would also apply to burping and yes, farting. Never was there a more innocent look upon the face of a man than when the mosquito killing sewer smell wafts across the room, during a silent salute to the butt. No, he does not even bother to look accusingly at the dogs. He looks ever so sweetly and says “OOPS.” As if that was some defense.
He lives in delusion like this. Yesterday as I was off to church, he reminded me:
Don’t tell all those church women that I’m cooking today, and did so yesterday. They will be sneaking back here with the intent of winning me away from you. So don’t say anything.”
Following another deadpan stare, I say, “uhuh,” and wave, as I shake my head and leave. At church two women offer:
I read your blog, what’s for dinner?
This was all said in a conspiratorially giggly whisper. I didn’t get even the slightest indication that anybody thought they might want to steal him away. This follows from a trip to the VA wherein a couple of nurses saw a part of his behind. To this day, he thinks they are still reveling in the wonder of seeing it. No idea why, but he loves to be deluded.
Actually to be utterly fair, dinner was good. A grilled steak, salad, baked potato and sauteed mushrooms makes for a nice holiday meal. But you get the idea. His self conception as “most desirable man in the universe” is a bit, well over the top.
So, you can see that my life is eventful, even back here in the boonies. I’m not at all sure that the Contrarian’s desire to live in the hinterlands is entirely voluntary. I’m starting to get the idea that he was told in no uncertain terms by the town folk of Troy Mills, that it was either the meadow, or he would be persona non grata. I suspect he is only allowed within the confines of said unincorporated hamlet for an hour a week. Otherwise the therapy bills are just too high for the average citizen to pay off with comfort.
Now, if this story doesn’t leave you with plenty of fodder for the water cooler or the lunch table, well, then you are so addicted to insane as to need immediate medication. Until next time, just be careful with that peeping. Getting arrested for such naughty deeds tends to follow you for years to come.