Monday, January 30, 2006

Beware the wrath of the bookish


We haven’t talked since Thursday. Friday the Scorpio leaves a voice mail saying, “the weekend’s no good. I have to go now and I can’t leave details.”

I talk to his voice mail.

“Well, “that was warm and fuzzy. So….have a good weekend…I suppose…and we’ll talk Monday.” You big stupid…guy. I don’t say that part out loud. He is who he is. Rather like Popeye.

Monday. I check astrological transits and lord, lord, it’s one of those days when both of us will cling to our own opinions like they are the last rowboat on the Titanic. We will both volunteer to have our bones picked clean by buzzards before we will give up a single, solitary molecule of opinion.

Oh dear.

Don’t panic, I tell myself, forewarned is forearmed. Just keep your head. Do NOT under any circumstances engage in a power struggle. He has three planets in Scorpio. You do not. You will lose, lose, lose…

And so.

The first few minutes are pretty much sweetness and light. Or at least it’s light. We’re both laughing. But somehow, I end up telling him that I’ve written an angry letter on the weekend. To a man.
“I thought you weren’t writing him anymore.”
“Well, I didn’t think I was. I was really mean the last one. I was pissed.”
“What do you think is mean?” He’s laughing - not with me. “Come on. What is mean? What did you say?”
I tell him. I recite several very pointed and unequivocal key sentences from memory. By now he can hardly talk through the laughter.
“That’s not mean. Where I come from, ‘F-ck off you asshole. Don’t bother me anymore. I’ve had enough of your crap’ is mean.”
“I can be very mean.” I’m indignant now.
Gales of hilarity at his end.
“I’m going to say something that might make you mad now,” he tells me when he can catch his breath. He’s enjoying himself heartily.
“Oh god. What? Does it have the word ‘white’ in it?”(I’m harking back to our recent and rather combative conversation at his use of the phrase, “spoiled white woman.”)
“No. It’s doesn’t have the word white in it. But it’s kind of close.” Oh god save me.
“What?”
“You get mad like a Librarian.”

And then I can’t stop laughing. Which is why I never win. I get mad like a Librarian?

4 comments:

Koru's Daughter said...

I love similes:

Get mad like a Librarian.
Walk like an Egyptian.
Party like its 1999.

Work like you don't need money.
Love like you've never been hurt.
Dance like no one's watching.

Blog like the the whole world is reading.

PS. The word verification for this comments is "coltpoem." Cool, huh?

LJ said...

Coltpoem is great!
And I adored "get mad like a librarian."
Damn man. Just as I'm getting a good self-righteous head of steam, he always does that!

Melinda said...

Dude. Librarians get crazy mad. And we can catalog you into oblivion, so... you know... don't arouse my anger, foo'. :)

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