Road Trip

Ann: How was your road trip? It was a long one, right?

Pam: Not too bad. Bret drove the whole way and it didn’t make me too nuts. You know he drives like a ninety-year-old man.

Ann: Yeah, you’ve told me Bret’s ‘Mr. Where’s-the-fire?’ I know if you guys are in a hurry or running late you'll always drive. It’s pretty funny. Usually it’s the man who drives faster.

Pam: He drives just like his dad used to. What’s funny is he always complained to me about how slow his dad drove, and now he’s the exact same way.

Ann: We all turn into our parents in some way eventually.

Pam: I must have turned into my mother because I made a bit of a fool of myself on this trip.

Ann: How so?

Pam: I was doing pretty good resisting the overwhelming urge to tell Bret how to drive. I was dying to say, ‘For goodness sakes, they’re passing you on the right; move over!’ or ‘Why are you in the right lane at a red light when we’re not turning? It really annoys everyone behind us who wants to turn right on red’.

Ann: So Bret’s the guy I’ve been driving behind for years!

Pam: If you think it’s bad to be behind him, imagine being trapped in the car with him.

Ann: So how’d you make a fool of yourself?

Pam: We were on the highway following this particularly slow tanker truck. You know those big shinny silver ones with the ladder?


Ann: Those things always make me nervous. I guess I’m afraid they’ll sort of spontaneously combust or that the driver is smoking and will set it off. I pass them as quickly as I can.

Pam: Me too. I figure it’s better to see them explode in my rearview mirror than drive right into the fireball right?

Ann: Absolutely.

Pam: So after miles of following right behind this big silver tanker I finally had to say something and asked Bret to please pass it. When he asked why, I told him just what we were talking about. He said it was silly and that I’d been watching too many action movies with him. But he agreed, moved to the left lane, sped up, and passed the truck.

Ann: That was nice of him. He’s right though. The odds are that those trucks will never explode, but why take a chance when you don’t have too?

Pam: Yeah, that’s what Bret said as we passed the tanker and we read the side of the truck. ‘You’re right honey…you never know when thousands of gallons of milk will just suddenly explode into a ball of flames!’

Ann: Hey, the milk could have come from Mrs. O'Leary's cow.

Cruise Where?

Pam: I know I’m getting older just looking at my mail. Lately I’m consistently getting these clothes catalogs aimed at a woman ‘of a certain age’.

Ann: I know the ones you mean. Half of it’s filled with what they call ‘cruise-wear’ which is catalog code for two-piece, elastic-waisted, old lady jogging suits.

Pam: Old ladies jog?

Ann: They don’t jog in them! They sit around the retirement home in them. But these outfits are warm for old bones, easy to get on and off, and are wash and wear…perfect for old ladies.

Pam: So where do the cruises come in?

Ann: You’re not usually this dense! The catalogs just call it cruise-wear to make them feel better about buying the old-lady-sit-around-the-retirement-home clothes.

Pam: Okay, for the record, I am not getting catalogs filled with ‘cruise-wear’. But now I know what I have to look forward to, thank you very much.

Ann: So what kind of catalogs are you getting that make you feel old?

Pam: I was referring to catalogs that don’t have the career clothes and sexy evening stuff I’m used to seeing. Suddenly all the pictures are of women in gardens with big floppy hats and on beaches with big floppy hats. The clothes are all loose fitting and drawstring. Frankly these women look like they’re walking around in their pajamas.

Ann: And big floppy hats. Okay, I get it. And the ‘dressy’ stuff is all tapestry jackets and sequined moccasins?

Pam: Exactly! What the heck?


Ann: You’re getting the ‘near retirement’ stuff. Are you seeing lots of 'mom-jeans' and grandmothers in kitchens making cookies with four-year-olds?

Pam: …in big floppy hats. Yes! That’s them.

Ann: You’re a step below ‘cruise wear’. It’s the matronly stuff. No more close fitting, sexy stuff. Just clothes designed to hide your body.

Pam: Yeah. Not a waistline among them. The models are clearly very fit, slim, older women but these clothes make them look horrible. God, if the models in the catalog look ugly in these clothes, just imagine how a normal person would look!

Ann: Hey, you always wanted to look like the models in the catalog. Here’s your chance.

Pam: God forbid! But seriously, I worry that I’ll slowly get used to seeing this stuff and then I’ll start ordering it without realizing I’m building a matronly wardrobe. How can I be sure I’m buying clothes that are appropriate for my age?

Ann: That’s easy. You can always tell if you’re looking at a catalog geared at an older audience by the adjectives they use to describe the clothes. When you start seeing words like ‘jazzy, fabulous, festive, snappy, and breezy’ you know you’ve crossed over into the older woman’s stuff.

Pam: I don’t even know what some of these clothes are by the description. This catalog today had a center pull-out section. It was clearance stuff from earlier in the year. There were no pictures, just descriptions of what was on sale. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what they were selling.

Ann: Give me a for instance.

Pam: Okay, just a sec….I have the catalog here….For example, what the heck is a “Crisply-cropped, kimono type, embroidered inset, faux wrap, travel knit, effortless, paisley bordered duster”?

Ann: You got me. But my mom used to call her summer housecoat a duster.

Pam: See, my grandmother used to call the lightweight overcoat she wore a duster.

Ann: You should order it just to see what the heck it is.

Pam: How would I even know if I got the right thing? I actually scared myself today as I flipped through this thing and caught myself thinking, “Well, a crinkled reversible skirt in a garden floral print would be great for travel”.

Ann: Have you booked your cruise yet?

Pam: You mean our cruise, we’ve got adjoining accommodations.

Is It Art In Here Or Is It Just Me?

Pam: Archie’s done it again. He makes me nuts!

Ann: What’d your boss do now?

Pam: We have a very important client. She’s a nice, independently wealthy woman who offered to give us a personal tour of a private museum she’d established. I didn’t want to appear entirely ignorant so, since Archie had been there before, I asked him what kind of museum it was.

Ann: Let me guess… he didn’t even know.

Pam: No. He knew it was a western art museum. That made sense since it’s in a western state. So I spent a month studying up on western art.

Ann: How much can there be on western art?

Pam: A lot! I memorized everything there is to know about Remington statues and paintings, the entire Russell collection. I could immediately distinguish a Bierstadt landscape from a Moran. I knew the pre-civil war art of Catlin, Bodmer, Miller, and Kane. I learned everything I could find on even relatively unknown late nineteenth century artists such as Gaul and Browne. And I was prepared to speak intelligently on the action and suspense in the works of Scheyyogel and Berninhaus.

Ann: I’d think you get points for just pronouncing Scheyyogel and Berninhaus! So you must have really impressed your client.

Pam: Not at all.

Ann: But you knew so much about western art!

Pam: Yeah, too bad it was a museum dedicated to wildlife art. I walked in and at first glance it seemed right. But fairly quickly it dawned on me that this was not a western art museum at all. I muddled through the tour mostly asking questions. At one point I was able to squeeze in a comment that one piece reminded me of the action you see in the western works of Berninhaus.

Ann: That must have impressed her, huh?

Pam: No, she just said, “Who?”

Ann: Well there you go…she didn’t know anything about western art and you didn’t know anything about wildlife art. So you’re even.

Pam: In the meantime I have all this knowledge about western art running around in my head for no reason. What am I supposed to do with that?

Ann: I think you should get even with Archie. Take him to a western art museum and tell him absolutely everything you know. That’ll teach him!

Married To The Mob?

Pam: Today’s July 7, 2007…seven, seven, seven. It’s a lucky day. I heard that a bunch more people than usual are getting married today because they say it’s the luckiest day of the century.

Ann: Hey, some people wouldn’t consider getting married as lucky!

Pam: Yeah, it takes skill.

Ann: That’s not what I meant.

Pam: Cynic! Did I ever tell you that I’m legally married to a man I’ve never met?

Ann: You realize, don’t you, that a question like that would actually be considered unusual between most best friends?

Pam: I’m serious.

Ann: Okay, I know you’ve met Bret so you must be talking about someone else before him. Did you marry some guy on a dare? No wait! You helped some poor schmuck get his green card by marrying him so he could stay in the country then you divorced him. Right?

Pam: Wrong. I’m still married to the stranger. Take a look at this.

Ann: Okay…where’d you get this? It looks like a legal marriage license with your name and vital statistics but it has another guy’s name on it as your husband. First name Bret but the last name is wrong…Is this one of those fake things you can order?

Pam: Nope. I can honestly say, that is a legal marriage license issued by the great state of Texas. That’s legally me and it’s signed by the county clerk, has the official seal, and was formally filed in the county clerk’s office.

Ann: What on earth?

Pam: More than twenty years ago, when we received our marriage license in the mail I noticed that they had put the wrong last name on it for Bret. So I took it down to the county clerk’s office to straighten things out.

Ann: This sounds like that ‘I Love Lucy' episode where years later they find out that there was some problem with their paperwork when they got married. So Lucy reverts to being a single woman and makes Ricky jump through all these hoops and propose and everything.

Pam: Yeah, I wondered if we were legally married too. So I went to downtown and explained the problem. They didn’t seem terribly concerned or surprised so I guess it happens more often than you’d think.

Ann: So they fixed things for you?


Pam: Yeah, they typed up a new marriage certificate while I waited. That was back when they had to roll that fancy paper down into the typewriter and actually clack away at it. Then they put the official seal on it and everything.

Ann: So how’d you end up with the one with the wrong husband’s name on it?

Pam: Well, they gave me the new one and I checked it carefully. Then I asked the lady if she would mind making a Xerox of the one with the wrong name on it for me. I thought it was sort of funny and wanted to put a copy of it in my scrapbook to laugh at years down the road. And she said, “Oh just keep it, Sweetie. Pull it out anytime your husband makes you mad and tell him you’re going to look up your REAL husband!”

Ann: Pam, only you would have a spare husband to fall back on. Have you ever looked him up? Maybe he’s a poet…or super sexy… or wealthy…

Pam: No way! With my luck he’s probably in debt up to his eyeballs with the IRS and they’d hit me up for payments while he’s in prison for tax evasion!

Obvious Or Oblivious

Ann: Yesterday, I spent my usual Sunday afternoon strolling through the bookstore. I ran across a book that I know was intended to be helpful in teaching us worker bees how to get a grip on our financial lives.

Pam: Did you buy it?

Ann: No. I read the begininning of the first chapter which listed three secrets to increasing wealth. The first one was… I’m not making this up… ‘Earn more than you spend’. To be honest I can’t even remember the other two because I was laughing so hard. I figured spending money on the book went against the book’s own advice so I left it for someone who needed to buy some common sense.

Pam: Common sense isn’t so common anymore. A couple of hours ago I put new shoe laces in my sneakers before Bret and I went walking. I kid you not, there were written instructions on the back of the shoe lace package with directions on how to tie your shoes. Not how to lace them, how to tie them!

Ann: I guess the shoelace people haven’t figured out that anyone who’s mastered reading and following directions probably has blown right past the complex art of shoe tying.

Pam: I don’t know. Now that I think about it, a lot of my professors wore loafers.

Ann: Some folks just don’t get it. But I’m more annoyed by people who have a keen sense of the obvious and feel compelled to educate the rest of us. I was having a difficult time getting through to tech support at work the other day. I’d dial and then there was just a click and silence. I wasn’t hearing it ring or getting a busy signal or anything. When my boss asked why I hadn’t spoken to them, I explained the problem and she said, “Well, you have to dial the right numbers in the right order.”

Pam: Really!? I thought as long as you used all the numbers, the order didn’t really matter! What was she thinking? But bosses are like that. Archie will stand behind me and tell me my own address as I fill in the blanks of an online order form!

Ann: You’ve said he can really micromanage but that’s over the top. Maybe it’s his subtle way of reminding you ‘he knows where you live’. Insert evil laugh here.

Pam: Sometimes he says things that make me wonder why he pays me so much if he thinks I’m such an idiot. I told him I was thinking of flying Ross back to school this year instead of driving for two days in the van. Archie tells me, “Well, you’re going to have to ship his desk and bed and everything. You can’t just take that stuff with you on the airplane you know.”

Ann: What’d you say to that?

Pam: I told him I was glad he was in the office that day because when he wasn’t there I just stumbled around in the dark bumping into walls.

Ann: Well, he’s the master of the obvious. But if there was an award for the oblivious, I know who I’d give it to. I was watching the news and they showed a story of a woman’s boyfriend who killed his love rival, the woman’s other boyfriend. The TV reporter on the scene actually asked the woman, “So will the events of tonight affect your decision on which man you end up choosing?”

Pet Therapy

Ann: I was just watching reruns of “Frasier”. The dad’s dog, Eddie, had a little friend, a pigeon who would come and sit on the balcony. It made me think of you and the menagerie of animals you used to have at your house. Didn’t Kate’s dog, Misfit, have a pet?

Pam: Don’t remind me! Yeah…our dog had a pet. It was actually a compromise. Kate kept insisting Misfit was lonely and needed a ‘wife’. We weren’t about to add another dog to the household so we settled on a guinea pig.

Ann: What was his name again?

Pam: Fred. He was pretty cute and believe it or not, he really did seem to be Misfit’s pet. Imagine a little Chihuahua and a guinea pig that would play together, share their treats with each other, and even sleep together.

Ann: Only at your house!


Pam: It wasn’t always such smooth sailing though. Kate really got her feelings hurt when after Misfit had his pet guinea pig for about six months, Bret called her from the pet food aisle at the grocery store. He was standing in front of all the bags of critter food and called to ask Kate, “What kind of animal is Fred again?”

Ann: He didn’t know what kind of animal the guinea pig was?!

Pam: Yeah. Later he told me that he knew Fred was a furry rodent of some kind but when he got to the store and saw all the pictures on the bags, they all looked like Fred to him. He couldn’t remember if Fred was a guinea pig, a gerbil, a ferret, or what. Kate was pretty upset with her dad and told him, “What if someone had to ask what kind of animal you were? How would that make you feel?”

Ann: It didn’t seem to bother my college boyfriend when I’d ask him that question.

Pam: So what kind of animal was he?

Ann: I think I was dating an octopus.

Pam: At least Bret only had to endure Kate’s hurt feelings. That darn guinea pig almost caused me to lose a huge deal.

Ann: Okay…only you could blame a deal falling through on a guinea pig! I’m ready…let’s have it.


Pam: I was sitting in an important lunch meeting about to convince new clients to sign a huge contract when my cell phone vibrated and I saw it was Kate. She was about thirteen at the time and she knew not to call during the work day unless it was urgent. So I gave my apologies to the businessmen at my table, told them it was urgent, and answered the phone as discretely as I could.

Ann: I hate having to take a call at a time like that…everyone’s focused on you wondering what’s so important that you had to interrupt a meeting with a call. Did you step out?

Pam: I couldn’t. I was ‘trapped’ in the very center of one of those big round booths so I couldn’t step away without making half the table ‘scoot and stand’. I just hoped it would be a quick call and kept my voice down. Or so I thought.

Ann: It’s hard not to hear someone on the phone at the same table.

Pam: Kate sounded upset and she said she was worried about Fred. As I listened to her concerns the men at the table appeared to go on with their own conversations so I focused on Kate and on trying to figure out what the problem was.

Ann: Misfit’s pet guinea pig was sick?


Pam: In a manner of speaking…So I was listening to Kate and I was trying to understand her concerns and reassure her. Unfortunately my question to Kate came right during a lull in the conversation at the lunch table and the businessmen all heard me ask, “So how can you tell your dog’s guinea pig is depressed?” They suddenly all burst into laughter and instantly my credibility dropped through the floor.

Ann: What did you expect? In a single sentence you revealed that your daughter’s pet had a pet and that she believed it was suffering an emotional illness. I’ve known you for nearly twenty years and I’m wondering about you myself now!

Pam: She described the ‘symptoms’ and I told her I was sure that Fred was just fine.

Ann: Not so fast…maybe the fact that Bret didn’t know what kind of animal he was sent Fred into a clinical depression. Perhaps he needs therapy.

Pam: Hey, don’t give Kate any ideas!