As in June Carter and Johnny Cash. As in, stand-by-your-man (in the spirit of, but not to be confused with the Tammy Whynette song of the same name). As in, A Good Woman.
Marko says that’s what he needs in his life. He is offering the opinion, strictly as a friend, that while I might be other worthwhile things, I am no June. Diplomatic as I am, I do not point out that he is no Johnny Cash. And that he is married to a human tornado he has nicknamed, “Rocket Chick.”
I protest. I can do June Carter, oh yes. I certainly can.
Today, for example, the Scorpio called.
“How are you?” he asks.
“I’m good, and you?”
“I hab a sinus infection.” Oh-oh. Full-Eyore voice.
“Awwww, sweetheart!”
“Yeah. I’b taking stuff for it, but it’s not helbing.”
“The stuff won’t help, sweetheart.” (We are now at two “sweethearts” Marko. Count them.)
“Wud will?” He sounds like he’s about to start hunting for a shroud soon in the vain hope that someone will notice that he’s dying.
“You have to go to the doctor. You have to go today and get something to clear it up. All that post-nasal drip is going into your chest and it’s no good for you.”
“Yeah, id’s all going idto my chest. It’s awful. What will they gib me?”
“Antibiotics. You’ll be good as new in no time. You phone and tell them you have to be squeezed in today, okay?”
“I’ll ask theb.”
“No. Tell them. Be assertive. Be aggressive if you have to. It’ll take the doctor five minutes.”
“Okay. I’ll call theb.”
“Okay. I’m sending you big get well kisses. Big sookie kisses.” Snotty, pleased-sounding laughter on the other end of the line.
I hang up and JF says, “God. And I thought we were disgusting.” She means her husband and her.
See? I can do it. I was raised by the original Good Woman. And not only that, despite the fact that the Scorpio weighs two hundred and thirty pounds and is a great big tough hulking jock, he loves this stuff when he’s sick or really blue. It never occurred to him that I couldn’t be June Carter.
So, Marko, my slandering friend – we’ll have no more of this crazy talk.
And say hello to Rocket Chick for me, Johnny.
1 comment:
Actually, Weedy comments to me, "That's not June Carter. That's June Cleaver." Oh hell. Wrong script.
Really. I would kill you for real? Don't think so, honey. Might kick your ass, though. When it got out of the hospital. (And by the way, the Scorpio, the OTHER one, is apt to do exactly what he wants to do at any given time. I just don't have to live with it.)
As to "put in more than you take out"...oh that's the subject of a long blog entry. Don't get me going for real on the Good Woman archetype and all the misery it's caused!
However, I will give you this - RC is up to her task, bless her kick-ass heart. But don't go calling her a good woman. You know what she's like about that stuff!
Besides toots! I was just having a little fun with you. In reality, I wouldn't mind finding a June Carter for myself. Hell. Who wouldn't?
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