… that Hizzoner implied that it would be okay with him if I entered into an illicit affair with Peyton Manning.
Mind, he unequivocally denies this. But he brought it up, and although he claims to be misquoted, I should like to point out that he's the one who was trying to calculate the age difference, and whether or not I would then be considered a "cougar."
This is all important just in case Mr. Manning ever … oh, I dunno… loses his senses completely and develops a sudden urge for a middle-aged, portly Italian broad housewife with a 35-piece matched set of emotional baggage.
really? the best thing?
Yeah. Really. It was quite entertaining.
umm… yeah. so how was the festival?
I don't know.
that good, eh?
No. I'm sure it was fine. Unless you were outside on Friday, where at least 1.5" of rain fell.
you act like you weren't even there.
I wasn't.
–blink– then why did you even go?
*sigh* Good question. You may remember that I had some misgivings about going in the first place. By Thursday it had gone into full-blown black funk and it was only a stern look from the boss that kept me from volunteering for a Saturday fill-in at the store.
We left here early Friday morning. The trip was fine. HSH talked us to death. It started raining shortly after we arrived in Asheville and was all-out pouring by the time we pulled into my in-laws' driveway. They were happy to see us and the evening went well.
Saturday is when things went downhill.We opted to spend the day together. HSH had asked to go to the toy store downtown, and I wanted to go to the yarn store. That was fine. Then, over a nice fish taco, I got into it with a wandering elderly hippie who wanted me to sign a petition of hers supporting national health care.
"So," sez me, "do you support tort reform as a part of any comprehensive reform package?"
"Um, yeah," she said.
"Really? Well. Interesting." I took another bite. (It really was good. The pico had a great kick.) "I won't sign your petition. Thanks."
"Why not? Don't you think it important that we all take care of each other?"
"No. It's not my responsibility to take care of you."
She became indignant. "Oh yes it IS. We all need to care for each other!"
"No. If you're foolish enough not to have provided for yourself at your obviously advanced age, it's not my problem. Besides, under your… leader's… health care plan, you'll be phased out soon enough."
At this point, my mother-in-law saved the old hippie from her sputtering anger by offering to sign her petition. "It's important that we do something," she said scoldingly.
"So you'd rather pass a faulty bill that has nothing to do with health care than to actually focus on the problems that really are the root cause?" I asked, astounded. "No. I will not support that bullshit. It's absolutely ridiculous that you want to destroy everything we have for no good reason than this touchy-feely kumbaya baloney of yours."
You can imagine that this did not go over well. The hippie, glad that she had found a kindred spirit at the table, handed my MIL a small sheet that "outlined the points."
"Wait a minute," I said, glancing at the flyer. "Have you read the bills?"
"Of course not," she said dismissively. "No one has."
"Oh, but yet you want to pass them. That makes perfect sense. I have read them. Those talking points of yours aren't in there."
"Yes, they are."
"No they aren't. I've read the bill; you haven't."
"Well," she said, tucking them away, "it doesn't matter. It's a moral issue."
"Moral? MORAL? I'll give you moral. It's immoral of you to be foisting off your irresponsibility into a trillion-dollar bill just so you don't have to lift a god-damned finger for yourself. It's immoral to make my daughter and her generation pay for this nonsense. I'm not responsible for you, and I'll be damned if I pay for you or any of your kind."
The hippie shuffled off in search of easier targets. My MIL turned to me and said, "Well. I had no idea you felt so strongly about this."
By this time I was in my black rage, a dangerous place as anyone who has experienced it will tell you. My hands were shaking and I could barely see. I turned to her and said, as calmly as possible, "I will not stand for this. I will not stand idly by and let this kind of thinking destroy my country. I will not allow you to mortgage my daughter's future on this nonsense, and I WILL NOT be quiet nor allow anyone to silence me when I know I am in the right."
"I think this goes deeper than that," she said.
At this point, the rage broke and I burst into hysterical sobbing. I looked across the table at a very confused HSH, and said, "I'm sorry. I never would have brought you into this world if I thought the adults in it would leave you this sort of mess."
Hizzoner finally recovered his powers of speech and calmed me down enough for me to finish my nachos. (Hey, they were good.)
By the way, the bottom of the hippie's petition had www.barackobama.com on it. Campaigning still?
The rest of the day was tentative at best. I refused to offer apology for my bit of drama, and none was offered to me. We took HSH to the wildlife refuge and fish hatchery (yeah, I know) where she got to feed the trout (oddly entertaining) and walk through a nature trail. I did make the effort to sit and be civil through supper, and my MIL furthered the rift between us by proceeding to psychoanalyze me through polite conversation, gently pronouncing me an "angry person who doesn't take joy from anything in life." I could also benefit, in her opinion, from some medication.
To be fair, my MIL is a former social worker. It's an occupational hazard, this mental screening thing. Whatever. She's probably right in some ways. I certainly wasn't pleased with her.
so you got out of the house on sunday.
That was the plan. I was sniffling a bit on Saturday night, and Sunday morning woke up to a head full of concrete. The pain from the pressure in my sinuses was blinding, and all I could do was lie there and moan. And not in a good way. Although my MIL did bring me hot tea, which I thought was nice.
Hizzoner took HSH – and the car – up onto the Blue Ridge Parkway for a little hiking. I didn't get out of bed until noon. (My class started at 9.) After a generous handful of ibuprofen and a hot-water blast from the shower directly on the face, I felt sufficiently revived and needed to get out of the house. The in-laws had gone for a walk and I followed suit. I decided to walk downtown (a half-mile at the max) and get something caffeinated, then walk home.
I walked further than I intended, got winded, then had to rest at a number of park benches while making my way back. I drank about half my diet Coke before I even got home. I was sporting a bit of a fever by then, my lungs were on fire from the exertion and the mouth-breathing (nose still fully blocked), and all I wanted was to crawl back into bed.
I settled for a little knitting, a bit of football, and falling asleep on the futon before Hizzoner returned.
wow.
Yeah. Enough already. I knew we should have stayed home.
I'm feeling better today. A little. Hizzoner drove the whole way home, which meant that HSH was free to talk non-stop, kick the back of my seat, and proclaim a need for a potty stop every thirty miles or so. But we're home. The dog's a little freaked out – so stressed from her stay at the vet's that she's gotten all gassy. Which is pleasant. Not. Four loads of laundry, added with cleaning up the house, answering all the mail and email, getting HSH together for school tomorrow, and trying to figure out what I need for work in the morning – I'm beat.
At least I know better than to leave the house from now on.
