Yesterday I had brunch with Dick Whitman's mom. It was very pleasant to meet her.
Oh please. I LOVED HER!!! Wait. More exclamation points are needed! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I knew she'd be the bomb.
Every story Dick Whitman ever told me about his mom, I would listen and then say, "I love your mom." I think I said that from the first story. And we share a birthday. And she Facebook Likes all the pictures I have of cats. AND SHE READS MY BLOG.
What's not to like?
But then I got there and she was even better than I had imagined. Oh, she was charming, she was hilarious, she was thoughtful about the predicament Dick Whitman and I are in, with our new singlehood and all.
At one point, Dick Whitman mentioned my dogs for some reason. "She has one dog, Tallulah, who's a little wild."
I was about to yell at him when Dick Whitman's mom said, "No. Tallulah is the calm one. Edsel is crazy. I know more about her dogs than YOU do, and I've never been there."
Seriously. How could you get Tallulah and Edsel confused? I think Dick Whitman is indifferent to dogs. YOU'RE INDIFFERENT TO DOGS, DW!
She talked about how she tried not to interfere in her kids' lives, and how she was worried meeting me would count as interfering. How cool is she?
Anyway, I could have stayed there all day, talking about Dick Whitman's ear infections that he got as a kid, and which old movie stars we liked and who was stupid, and how chickens don't taste right now that they're pumped full of hormones and kept in a cage.
And there was an Art-O-Mat at the restaurant! Y'all know how I always have to put my $5 in there, and no I DON'T know why my savings account has $9.48 in it. What do you mean?
Art-O-Mats are old cigarette machines that some genius, meja, decided to turn into a vending machine for teensy works of art. So artists from all over, including my friend Charlie with the orange hair–who by the way now has a girlfriend with pink hair and thank heavens he went back to brown hair, because that combo makes me queasy just thinking about it–put their art in these machines.
Yesterday I got a teensy patron saint–It was St. Zzzzzz, for a good night's sleep. I need that. When you sleep with the entire animal kingdom, not to mention occasionally King Don, you don't always get your rest.
As if meeting Dick Whitman's mom weren't good enough, I got home and decided to pay bills, because they'd all been languishing on my secretary gathering cobwebs. I don't know why King Don doesn't just pay my bills. Shouldn't he be wealthy?
Anyway, I decided to check my bank balance before I went around paying bills all willy-nilly, and I had a TON more in there than I thought. This is because Google Ads just deposits money right in there, and no one had said, "Hey, June, you got paid for your ads!"
I could not even stand the temptation. I sat here and debated for awhile and finally called the Tall Boy. "I have surprise money. Should I go stampeding to the Apple store and get another iPhone?" I think I have whined about having no iPhone a mere 49493002202 times to Tall Boy.
"Yes," he said, sounding weary. "If I found out I had extra money, that's certainly what I'd do." Tall Boy is not what you'd call up on technological advances. In order to email him, I have to send a Pterodactyl over there to crank up his internet. He's, like, the only boy I know who isn't into all that crap. It is kind of refreshing.
So who went over to the Apple store on African American Friday, as Hulk calls it? Who is an idiot? I mean, other than Hulk. Dudes, there was a LINE, with a ROPE, like we were all trying to get into Studio 54, and will somebody PLEASE give me a club that has happened since 1977 so I come up with a better example next time this comes up?
I was behind a very cranky techno nerd who kept glaring at me when my purse touched him, and I'm SORRY I am not a motionless blowup doll like you're used to, and I was in front of two Asian girls who had some sort of cultural idea of personal space that differed from mine. Can only hope I gave them my shingles.
The point is…
And I got the cheap old 3G, and that's all I need. Girlfriend's ad revenue isn't DOOCE good. But oh! How I played with it and tormented Tall Boy with photos of my car and my pets and more of my pets and who wishes he'd said I should invest that money in bonds or something?
Do you enjoy my gray robe and t-shirt from The Turkey Roost, which is only the best restaurant in Michigan? If you are in Michigan right now, get in the car and drive to Kawkawlin. You will not be sorry. Try not to picture my I-just-got-up hair when you are eating.
Oh! And Dick Whitman's mom said I have to stop complaining about my hair, as she thinks it's lovely. "You don't think it looks like George Washington?" I asked her. She paused, realizing it totally does. "Well. Now you're just looking for flaws."
So there it is. Would totally marry Dick Whitman to get to his mom. We could each date whomever we wanted, and he could continue to think Tallulah is Edsel. Sounds promising!
I'll email you the wedding photos from my iPhone.