Faithful reader Meme left a comment yesterday about someone she knew whose name was Fabris and he started insisting it was pronounced "Fabree," even though he'd been going around having it pronounced "Fabris" for most of his life.
It reminded me of a story my father told me about one of his friends, named Dale.
And I can digress? I know you're shocked I am going to digress. And I like how I ask, like you have any power to say no, over there. I guess you could just bleep around my paragraphs till you get to one you like, but still.
So, Dale lived in Seattle and I lived in Seattle, and my father said, "You should have dinner with Dale sometimes" so we did. Generally, my father is right about things, like he told me to never get a paper route, and hearing Marvin's paper route stories, I am certain dad was correct.
He also told me to take the sleeper car on my three-day move from Michigan to Seattle by train, which I did not listen to, and he said, "I will PAY for the sleeper car" and I still would not do it, because I was moving out on my own, see, and nothing was keepin' me down. I was strong. I was independent. I was miserable for three days on a train with no sleeper car.
Remind me to tell you that story some day. Aren't there like 80 stories you are supposed to remind me to tell you?
Goodness, this digression is going on forever. Once Barry Gibb was quoted as saying, "For forever" but I still like him. Have y'all heard how Robin Gibb got his housekeeper pregnant? Robin Gibb is married to a druid princess, and he has an open marriage, but apparently not THAT open. The wife is mad.
So, occasionally I would have dinner with my father's friend Dale, and I understand that was like 79 paragraphs ago and you're all, WHO? He was a photographer, too, like my father, and he was really funny. Anyway, my father came to town once and we all went to dinner together. I got to the restaurant last, and Dale had on this bright blue sort of Naugahyde vintage jacket. I said, "It's an interesting jacket. You look like a bowling ball."
Both Dale and my father started laughing, because apparently my father had walked in and said exactly the same thing. Now, why did we both think "bowling ball"? There are lots of things that're bright blue. Really, bowling ball? We are so from Michigan.
So Dale, the photographer, needed an assistant, and now I am done digressing and am finally at the story I was gonna tell. He got a bunch of resumes and called someone named Karen.
"Yes, hello," he said, "Is this Karen?"
"It's Kar-ON," said the person on the other end.
"Oops!" said Dale. "You lost the job!"
And he hung up.
Oh, I love that story. I always wondered what that pretentious twit did once she got hung up on. Kare-ON.
Before I go, and I know you are glad I am going to scatter my thoughts like dead dandelions elsewhere, Marvin just came in to show me his shoe got paint on it from his attic disaster the other day. Guess who I do not feel sorry for?