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Monday, February 21, 2011

PUSSY

you shake my nerves and you rattle my brain
--jerry lee


Presidents Day, this month's Monday of no mail, no banks, no library, no state jobs. But almost everything else is open. People I've talked with who work at the PO say they would rather not have those "free" Mondays, because Tuesday morning they have twice as much mail to process. One day's mail takes a great deal of time. Two days' mail takes twice as much time. It's a bother for all the rest of us too. Need to take something to the post office. Not today. Waiting for a check that's supposed to arrive Monday. Not today. No netflix movie. Invariably, it's the day I need to go to the bank. This morning I went to the phone office, neither state nor federal. Closed today. Closed tomorrow. Right away this morning I had to shift my attitude from expecting to get a thing or two done to getting nothing done. I went to Selma's and ordered some Kenyan coffee. No more thinking about getting anything done today.



Dudley was there. Joe was there. A young woman I don't recall seeing more than once in passing, with a 2 yr old little girl. All were engaged in conversation. Evidently they'd been discussing an issue and I was in time to provide the punch line. I was asked by Selma to settle the question. They'd go by whatever was my answer. The question was, Why do old men like young girls? I began to question the benefit of the doubt I'd given them regarding their IQs. I looked around at all of them, and they all appeared to be seriously entertaining this question. They were waiting for me to give them the answer. I had a hard time believing it. Even began to wonder if it was some kind of pre-arranged trick they wanted to pull on me when I walked in. They wanted an answer, so I said, "Pussy." They exploded in disbelief that I'd said that word. It was like on the PeeWee Herman show saying the magic word. Dudley said, "In front of the little girl!" I'm thinking, What's going on here? Mother of little girl gives me a disapproving look like I'd just said nigger. Lord have mercy.


Then they start in on TJ doesn't mince words, etc. It was all in good humor. After all, they all looked like adults to me, and if mother is freaked over little girl hearing it, that means little girl doesn't know it, so it's the same as saying 18-wheeler. No meaning. And so what if it does have meaning for her. She's going to find out some day. She may not know the word, but I know she knows the body part. Big damn deal. I refused to feel guilty for answering a question that could be answered no other way. And I refuse just as much to feel guilty for saying such a word in front of a two year old. I am not television. When you're around me, you're on your own. If PC is your track, you'll be pist off by me sooner or later, so it may as well be sooner. I learned later that little girl is granddaughter and her mother is daughter of my friend Katherine. And I didn't even know it. As soon as I finish writing this, I'm calling Katherine to tell her the great first impression I made on her daughter. She will laugh and I will laugh and we'll have a good time.


I've become such a curmudgeon old turd that I don't care the least little bit if somebody doesn't like words that I speak. Hail far, I'm not going around cussing like I could if I wanted to and saying shit every sentence. It's nothing but television correctness. I will not edit my speech down to pablum for the people who watch tv. I've already edited it down to decency. I'm not going any further. PC is conformity. No one knows or cares why certain words are forbidden; it's just that you don't say them if you want anybody to like you. Like smoking. If my lungs could take it, I'd smoke all the time to show the smug non-smokers I am not one of them. You might say I got nothing done today, but I definitely did have a good time. All the above was in good humor at Selma's coffee bar. Like I said, they were nearly all adults. They knew they set me up. Don't ask me a question with only one answer if you don't want to hear it. Like I had to tell my mother in my 50s, Don't ask me questions you don't want to hear answered. It's time for a taste of some Wild Turkey, and I don't mean a drumstick.



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1 comment:

  1. What a hoot. I wish I'd been there. (That's a dangerous subject to bring up with Dudley around.)

    ReplyDelete