Gail visited yesterday. She is an old friend, who predates the BFF I've known since the early seventies. Gail and I go back to the college days, the sixties. Tiny apartments, tiny grocery stores, long walks to the Laundromats or home from the bars. Those days.
Gail is a laid back woman who is domiciled nearby on occasion, house sitting. She came with Lily, an extremely laid back Golden Retriever. I have it on good authority the animal is only laid back in Gail’s company. Gail is an animal whisperer.
Gail also is the only person I can contact easily to second my version of cutting off the end of my husband’s nose. The story does circulate occasionally.
|Watching Janice put the quilt together|
Jim, my husband, was classically passive aggressive. I had to grow older and read a lot of books to figure that out; so that bit of information is after the fact. The fact is, he expected the house to run smoothly, but he ran counter intuitively to the operation.
One Saturday we were having a large party. He did not get out of bed to assist in straightening the house; when he got up he moved straight to the sofa while I continued preparations. Then he decided he wanted his hair cut. OK, I had time to fit that in. But he wandered off, puttering.
|Doesn't look difficult|
I didn't refuse to continue, I just needed him to sit still soon enough and long enough to do the job. Yes, guests began arriving, gathering in the kitchen to watch the haircut, which had barely begun. “I want to do this later,” I advised. “You’re going to do it now,” he replied.
I cut hair with a razor in those days. Perhaps something pulled; he jerked, I lost tension on the hair, snatched my hand back and almost missed the end of his nose. I felt it hit, though, and there was a good deal of blood and screaming. He lost a sliver of skin, right on the end of his nose.
The guests were friends from graduate school, one a resident in surgery. He took over, put Jim to bed, prescribed ice and aspirin. The party went on, with Jim occasionally roaring his displeasure from upstairs. The scab on the end of his nose lasted several weeks. It didn't bother me at all. As Gail said to Jim then and will tell you now, “She said she didn't want to cut your hair.”
Between schlepping kids I listened in on Gail’s visit, knitting a sock. I've been remiss with socks this winter and have some catching up to do. And the last news, the arsenic and rice team did not move on. Emily hopes to get through high school without being required to participate again; Angela is thinking about arsenic in juice for next year. Well done, ladies.
|And another person come to pet me.|