08 January 2013
619
R. Linda:
I wasn't going to do this, but unfortunately for meself I will relate a long-distance (and I mean long) phone call I got a few days ago and the medicated unflattering dream that followed it, with the depressing (to me at least) revelation of who I remind people of. SIGH
I had a best friend, one Donnie Donnally (and yes that be his real name), who after 16 years of not being in "touch" found yours truly and dug deep enough that he got me phone number and set to ring me up in the middle of what is morning here, but afternoon over in Great Britain.
In me sleep-induced but not nearly conscious state I kept asking "WHO is calling?" Because to hear the name Donald Donnally did not ring a bell. Now Donnie Donnally might have. He was getting quite a bit frustrated with me insensible attitude and reverted with a great sigh to saying, "De bloke yer gurew oop wit in Newry, we went ter school togeter, were best furiends an' sooch."
"OH Donnie be dat you?" I said, picking up me clock and finally getting who had awakened me at 3 a.m.
"Yeah it be, Oi turacked yer doon Oi did, an' I wanted ter catch oop. Oy ya, doin'?" He asked like it was the middle of the afternoon for me.
"Chucker ye nu it be in de wee 'oyurs over ere?"
"Oh naw! Oh, Bejayus is it? Well, Oi be sorury but nogh dat hisser awake, we kin still blather, aye?"
What was I to do? Well, me wife said to just hang up the phone, "He'll call back." Oh for sure he will but not later, it would be right away, so I decided I'd just talk to him then, pay for the privilege at work when I couldn't keep me eyes open.
To be honest with you, I don't remember much of the conversation. I know he covered many lives of former friends and schoolmates he did, told me he was living in London, and had a job with AIG I think it was, but it was confusing. I had the day before (Sunday) taken the parents to Boston to the airport in the morning, then zoomed on over to the office to pick up work since I had been on "holiday" (more like sick leave), and wanted to get a jump on work I had before me return. I came in feeling exhausted and achy as I still had me cold. I had gone in against me wife's suggestion I needed one day to recuperate. I wasn't sure if she meant from me cold or from me parental unit's visit. Anyway, I came home, medicated meself, and then sat down in the lounge to find I was watching what the wife wanted to watch. And that was Downton Abbey. Now I don't mind watching PBS every so often, but that night I wanted to sleep and at first I thought, Perfect! This will bore me into sleep. Only that did not happen because the excited wife kept up a running commentary the entire show. And the show started at 9 and went all the way to 11!
Every time I'd sort of nod off, Tonya would shake me awake and say something about what be going on in the story and I'd grunt in answer and hope she'd go back to her popcorn and let me sleep. I got in a few catnaps I did, but unfortunately, as soon as the show was over, me wife filled me in on what I "slept through." Then out of nowhere, she got all upset that Michelle Obama had requested the new series from the producers of Downton and got it over Christmas. "Some Christmas present!" She intoned all ruffled, "How come she gets to see the entire series before the rest of us?"
"Cause she's the first lady?" I said deciding to make me getaway. "YOU are not the only woman of colour that enjoys watching the downfall of the British empire." I threw over me shoulder. I have no clue what her reaction to me Irish boldness was, but I blame it on the meds and being overly exhausted at having to watch a bunch of hoity-toities having tea. Sorry me Irish oppression was coming out.
So when I went to bed and had further medicated meself to keep from coughing, I had rather strange dreams of being at Highclere Castle with Queen Lizzie and the DoE. I remember coming in the door and being told by Miss O'Brien to wipe me feet. And there was Thomas taking me wrap (as he looked down his nose at me) and me being escorted by Mr. Carson into the salon where the Queen was at a writing desk and the DoE was posing by the mantelpiece as if for a picture. I looked around for a photographer when the DoE came forward extending his hand in welcome and I heard the Queen say over her shoulder, "Who is that Philip?" and it was then the phone on her writing desk began to ring. She turned to me and looked at me with those beady blue eyes and said, "Aren't you going to answer that?"
That's when me conscious brain woke me to me real phone next to me bed ringing off the hook. I don't think I made much sense to Donnie and he probably thought me a dolt, but gees it was awfully early and I was very medicated, and in want of sleep that I did not care what he thought. I don't remember hanging up the phone and found out later me wife could hear it buzzing and she took it out of me "cold dead hands" and hung it up since I was hard and fast asleep and snoring.
All I do remember is that suddenly I was back at the castle, and I was below stairs in an ill-fitting footman's uniform with Thomas pulling on me collar and straightening me tie.
"You'll never look or be as good as me, but this will have to do for a newspaper hack." He said stepping back and surveying his work.
"Don't you worry none Mr. O'Sully you'll be just fine," Sybil Fawlty said as she floated on by, cigarette smoke trailing behind her. It was Sybil Fawlty but she looked a lot like me follower Dewdropper. It was the hair I think, so much of it piled high on her head. I remember being somewhat startled she'd be there and I whispered to Thomas, "Is this Fawlty Towers?"
"You are in need of some brains aren't you?" He sneered, "THIS is Downers Abbey," and he walked off leaving me by the bell board wondering what I was supposed to do next. I somehow knew I was the new footman, it all fit, and me brain was not questioning a thing. Next, I am being jostled forward by Mr. Carson who looked at me and said, "Didn't I just let you in upstairs?" And he pointed to the ceiling.
"Uh . . . " I mumbled a memory fleeting by of something like that happening but . . .
"Well then, let's go. You need to decant the wine." And then he stopped and looked at me and said, "You are too tall to be a footman!" And then went on up the stairs, me dogging his heels, crunching me tall self down to appear shorter.
"But I . . . " I mumbled after him, "Don't know a thing about wine."
"Then you need to learn!"
He pulled me along to a back hallway behind what I was assuming was the dining room and there had to be a hundred (no less) crystal decanters with all kinds of wine and a million glasses. He was explaining what wine went in what 'gloss' and I was inwardly thinking, I can't do this, too many, too many. I glanced at the man slumped in the chair next to the table and recognised Capt. Jaack passed out.
"Don't mind him, that's just Molesley ignore him," Carson said with disdain.
I was confused by this I was and started to say something, but Carson cut me off and said, "He's the Crawley's butler, come to help get a drunk on instead. Need I say more?"
"Oh no, sir," I said thinking that the pirate hat was kind of strange when Jaack was dressed in butler attire, but suddenly I wasn't at the wine table, I was in the dining room.
Next, I am moving around the table with a gravy boat in one hand and a white linen napkin draped over me other arm serving Lady Mary who paid me no mind. I couldn't stop looking at her because she looked exactly like Tonya and I was wondering what she was doing there pretending to be Lady Mary. It seemed everyone accepted she was, but as I looked at "everyone" I realised I knew each one. The person calling herself Edith was the new and improved lasered Fionna talking about how Dr. Clarkson had pulled up this, lasered that, botoxed this and I threw a glance at Dr. Clarkson and almost spilt the gravy on Lady Grantham when I realised Dr. Clarkson looked exactly like me veterinarian! Quickly, I caught meself before splashing Lady Grantham and as I looked down at her to apologise me clumsiness, I realised I was looking at YOU! I took a double take and you looked rather put aback by me and said, "You should be out in the garden moving rocks! Too clumsy to serve!"
I moved away as Mr. Carson whispered that I better shape up and fast. I did, I moved along to Lady Sybil who had dyed her hair blond. She looked up at me refusing the gravy ("must keep my girlish figure,") and I thought she looked quite a bit like Lady Maggie of Scotland. But I didn't take pause, I moved to her husband the former chauffeur who was busy arguing he was NOT a Republican he was a LOYALIST and British tradition WAS everything his Protestant upbringing could WANT! I was stunned being an Irish Republican and not appreciating English traditions all that much, but me brain turned to mush as I realised I was looking at a very invigorated Wolfie expounding the virtues of Northern Ireland's black taxis. I wanted to punch him in the face and open me piehole to argue but once again I was told to move along this time, by Thomas.
I offered the gravy to Matthew Crawley who said, "Yes pleasie O'Sully an iffin yer wood puttie in me glass a shottie a scotch." I could only see the back of his blond head but the butchering of the English language could only present to me one person, the Weasil. "As you wish," I said hurrying back to the serving board and replacing the gravy with a scotch bottle which I poured a hefty amount of the amber liquid and ran back to place it. I took a quick look around as I went back to the serving board and out of the corner of me eye I saw Lord Grantham, and he looked like Lord Grantham! So I ventured another look and I saw Mrs. Levinson and the Dowager Countess and realised I was looking at the first, me mother-in-law the Dragon, and the second ME OWN APPLE CHEEKED, GREY HAIRED LITTLE MAM!
If that wasn't enough to wake me up I don't know what was, but the very next second me attention was on being told to "Go below stairs and bring up the pudding would you?" by Mr. Carson.
Me heart was pounding in me chest as I went down and I met the kitchen maid, Daisy and she looked exactly like Weasil's Amanda. I was confused, but I did have presence of mind to ask for the pudding.
"Ack! Do ya see me wit a puddin'?" She said being less than helpful.
"No, but . . . " I stuttered and saw Mrs. Patmore's back and ran forward to accost her for the pudding, thinking all the while how very short she was. "Mrs. P," I said to her busy back, "I've been sent for the pudding."
"'Av ya now?" She said not turning round, but continuing to scrub some pans.
"Yes, I have," I said looking around for the pudding and then realising she sounded like YOU. And it was YOU as she turned round, soap rag in one hand and sudsy pot in the other. I was stunned, how could this be? I had just seen you upstairs in a rather high child's chair carved like a throne sitting in the place of Lady Grantham!
"It's over there where the dessert is always put." You said not being very kind. "You should be upstairs moving furniture you don't know the first thing about service." And turning round you left me to scour the kitchen for the pudding, which I saw disappearing over Thomas's shoulder as he left to take it upstairs. I knew then I was in trouble with Mr. Carson big time.
I ran after Thomas but he seemed to always be twenty yards ahead of me no matter how quickly I ran to catch up. I never got back to the dining room because I ran smack into Mr. Bates who was snogging Anna. That was embarrassing because I blurted out (from me surprise), "I thought you were in the nick?"
"Now Mr. O'Sullivan that isn't quite in keeping with the downstairs creed, you never bring up anything undesirable unless you are at the staff table having tea." Anna remonstrated.
"Oh, I be terribly sorry," I said to Bates and Anna. "Carry on," I said and ran off to find I could not find the stairs to the upstairs. They were gone! I was in a bedroom, with red wallpaper and I knew, yes I did, THAT room was a room of death! Someone Turkish had died in there and as I stepped in I could smell something sort of Turkish, so I turned on the bedside light and nearly jumped out of me skin because there was Sir Richard Carlisle, the rich, powerful and ruthless newspaper tycoon I worked for, smoking with Sybil Fawlty (she, growing massive amounts of her blond hair while lying next to him). I remember thinking Sir Richard was smoking a joint he was, and the two of them were toking back and forth.
"Ohhh . . . " I said to them pointing at the joint.
"Oh I know, I know . . ." Sybil (who was really Dewdropper) said to me, "This isn't Colorado."
"OH it's you, you have something to say about the newspaper? Why aren't you working? What are you doing HERE? I told you to get the dirt on this family." Sir Richard said mistaking me for one of his reporters, or . . . was he? I simply did not know!
"He's not one of your reporters, that's just Basil, Basil Fawlty." Sybil corrected. "Why aren't you at the front desk?" She asked turning her attention me.
Me eyes must have opened wide, I felt me body as if it had changed, but it felt the same, I walked over to the Cheval glass and what I saw put me in a full-out faint.
When I revived I realised I saw how much I act like Basil Fawlty! I was in amok sweat over all this as you can well imagine. Even in me bad dream I was struggling with the fact that there I was in the red room of death with two people that shouldn't be in the same bed together, nor should either one of them be smoking a joint, AND that one of them would be more fit counting money and the other at a salon getting a hair cut! The worst of it was, as I sat on the floor I could still see me in the Cheval. I did look like John Cleese and I was not happy about that. No, not happy at all. This was a terrible revelation to yours truly. Oi!
This so upset me I awakened to find it was nearly time for me to get up anyway. Tonya was stirring and I waited for her to rouse. I had a burning question for her, yes I did and I meant to get an answer even if it was before I had me coffee.
"Ton," I said as she sat up and rubbed her eyes, "Who do I remind you of, just the first name that comes to you. Quick," I said not wanting her to think about it.
"Uh . . . Basil Fawlty, why?"
THERE IT WAS! OFFICIAL!!! Yes, when one's own wife says her husband reminds her of a bumbling British comedy character then it must be true! I was beside meself, but I kept it hidden. I was thinking she told me I reminded her of Ben Affleck and now? (See me blog story of 13 November 2012 Affleck, Affleck, AFLAC!) I got up, looked in the mirror and the first thing to go was the moustache I had grown over the holiday, the second was a vow to let the hair grow, and the last I grouped together: Not let me short temper get the best of me, try to feign not being incompetent about household items, and to hide any presentiment of arrogance that might creep out when I get set upon by the Dragon lady aka me mother-in-law.
I now have New Year's Resolutions. Something I've never participated in in me life. So this should be good. Meanwhile, I catch meself doing Basil-like things. I sometimes can't help meself, it is so hard to be unBasil-like when for all these years . . . I just can't stop. Even Tonya is now telling me when me alter-ego takes over and reminds me of it. I catch meself first but she chimes in to remind me what I just reminded meself of. I mean, what is the point in reminding me of what I just reminded meself? Oh never mind.
Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
I wasn't going to do this, but unfortunately for meself I will relate a long-distance (and I mean long) phone call I got a few days ago and the medicated unflattering dream that followed it, with the depressing (to me at least) revelation of who I remind people of. SIGH
I had a best friend, one Donnie Donnally (and yes that be his real name), who after 16 years of not being in "touch" found yours truly and dug deep enough that he got me phone number and set to ring me up in the middle of what is morning here, but afternoon over in Great Britain.
In me sleep-induced but not nearly conscious state I kept asking "WHO is calling?" Because to hear the name Donald Donnally did not ring a bell. Now Donnie Donnally might have. He was getting quite a bit frustrated with me insensible attitude and reverted with a great sigh to saying, "De bloke yer gurew oop wit in Newry, we went ter school togeter, were best furiends an' sooch."
"OH Donnie be dat you?" I said, picking up me clock and finally getting who had awakened me at 3 a.m.
"Yeah it be, Oi turacked yer doon Oi did, an' I wanted ter catch oop. Oy ya, doin'?" He asked like it was the middle of the afternoon for me.
"Chucker ye nu it be in de wee 'oyurs over ere?"
"Oh naw! Oh, Bejayus is it? Well, Oi be sorury but nogh dat hisser awake, we kin still blather, aye?"
What was I to do? Well, me wife said to just hang up the phone, "He'll call back." Oh for sure he will but not later, it would be right away, so I decided I'd just talk to him then, pay for the privilege at work when I couldn't keep me eyes open.
To be honest with you, I don't remember much of the conversation. I know he covered many lives of former friends and schoolmates he did, told me he was living in London, and had a job with AIG I think it was, but it was confusing. I had the day before (Sunday) taken the parents to Boston to the airport in the morning, then zoomed on over to the office to pick up work since I had been on "holiday" (more like sick leave), and wanted to get a jump on work I had before me return. I came in feeling exhausted and achy as I still had me cold. I had gone in against me wife's suggestion I needed one day to recuperate. I wasn't sure if she meant from me cold or from me parental unit's visit. Anyway, I came home, medicated meself, and then sat down in the lounge to find I was watching what the wife wanted to watch. And that was Downton Abbey. Now I don't mind watching PBS every so often, but that night I wanted to sleep and at first I thought, Perfect! This will bore me into sleep. Only that did not happen because the excited wife kept up a running commentary the entire show. And the show started at 9 and went all the way to 11!
Every time I'd sort of nod off, Tonya would shake me awake and say something about what be going on in the story and I'd grunt in answer and hope she'd go back to her popcorn and let me sleep. I got in a few catnaps I did, but unfortunately, as soon as the show was over, me wife filled me in on what I "slept through." Then out of nowhere, she got all upset that Michelle Obama had requested the new series from the producers of Downton and got it over Christmas. "Some Christmas present!" She intoned all ruffled, "How come she gets to see the entire series before the rest of us?"
"Cause she's the first lady?" I said deciding to make me getaway. "YOU are not the only woman of colour that enjoys watching the downfall of the British empire." I threw over me shoulder. I have no clue what her reaction to me Irish boldness was, but I blame it on the meds and being overly exhausted at having to watch a bunch of hoity-toities having tea. Sorry me Irish oppression was coming out.
So when I went to bed and had further medicated meself to keep from coughing, I had rather strange dreams of being at Highclere Castle with Queen Lizzie and the DoE. I remember coming in the door and being told by Miss O'Brien to wipe me feet. And there was Thomas taking me wrap (as he looked down his nose at me) and me being escorted by Mr. Carson into the salon where the Queen was at a writing desk and the DoE was posing by the mantelpiece as if for a picture. I looked around for a photographer when the DoE came forward extending his hand in welcome and I heard the Queen say over her shoulder, "Who is that Philip?" and it was then the phone on her writing desk began to ring. She turned to me and looked at me with those beady blue eyes and said, "Aren't you going to answer that?"
That's when me conscious brain woke me to me real phone next to me bed ringing off the hook. I don't think I made much sense to Donnie and he probably thought me a dolt, but gees it was awfully early and I was very medicated, and in want of sleep that I did not care what he thought. I don't remember hanging up the phone and found out later me wife could hear it buzzing and she took it out of me "cold dead hands" and hung it up since I was hard and fast asleep and snoring.
All I do remember is that suddenly I was back at the castle, and I was below stairs in an ill-fitting footman's uniform with Thomas pulling on me collar and straightening me tie.
"You'll never look or be as good as me, but this will have to do for a newspaper hack." He said stepping back and surveying his work.
"Don't you worry none Mr. O'Sully you'll be just fine," Sybil Fawlty said as she floated on by, cigarette smoke trailing behind her. It was Sybil Fawlty but she looked a lot like me follower Dewdropper. It was the hair I think, so much of it piled high on her head. I remember being somewhat startled she'd be there and I whispered to Thomas, "Is this Fawlty Towers?"
"You are in need of some brains aren't you?" He sneered, "THIS is Downers Abbey," and he walked off leaving me by the bell board wondering what I was supposed to do next. I somehow knew I was the new footman, it all fit, and me brain was not questioning a thing. Next, I am being jostled forward by Mr. Carson who looked at me and said, "Didn't I just let you in upstairs?" And he pointed to the ceiling.
"Uh . . . " I mumbled a memory fleeting by of something like that happening but . . .
"Well then, let's go. You need to decant the wine." And then he stopped and looked at me and said, "You are too tall to be a footman!" And then went on up the stairs, me dogging his heels, crunching me tall self down to appear shorter.
"But I . . . " I mumbled after him, "Don't know a thing about wine."
"Then you need to learn!"
He pulled me along to a back hallway behind what I was assuming was the dining room and there had to be a hundred (no less) crystal decanters with all kinds of wine and a million glasses. He was explaining what wine went in what 'gloss' and I was inwardly thinking, I can't do this, too many, too many. I glanced at the man slumped in the chair next to the table and recognised Capt. Jaack passed out.
"Don't mind him, that's just Molesley ignore him," Carson said with disdain.
I was confused by this I was and started to say something, but Carson cut me off and said, "He's the Crawley's butler, come to help get a drunk on instead. Need I say more?"
"Oh no, sir," I said thinking that the pirate hat was kind of strange when Jaack was dressed in butler attire, but suddenly I wasn't at the wine table, I was in the dining room.
Next, I am moving around the table with a gravy boat in one hand and a white linen napkin draped over me other arm serving Lady Mary who paid me no mind. I couldn't stop looking at her because she looked exactly like Tonya and I was wondering what she was doing there pretending to be Lady Mary. It seemed everyone accepted she was, but as I looked at "everyone" I realised I knew each one. The person calling herself Edith was the new and improved lasered Fionna talking about how Dr. Clarkson had pulled up this, lasered that, botoxed this and I threw a glance at Dr. Clarkson and almost spilt the gravy on Lady Grantham when I realised Dr. Clarkson looked exactly like me veterinarian! Quickly, I caught meself before splashing Lady Grantham and as I looked down at her to apologise me clumsiness, I realised I was looking at YOU! I took a double take and you looked rather put aback by me and said, "You should be out in the garden moving rocks! Too clumsy to serve!"
I moved away as Mr. Carson whispered that I better shape up and fast. I did, I moved along to Lady Sybil who had dyed her hair blond. She looked up at me refusing the gravy ("must keep my girlish figure,") and I thought she looked quite a bit like Lady Maggie of Scotland. But I didn't take pause, I moved to her husband the former chauffeur who was busy arguing he was NOT a Republican he was a LOYALIST and British tradition WAS everything his Protestant upbringing could WANT! I was stunned being an Irish Republican and not appreciating English traditions all that much, but me brain turned to mush as I realised I was looking at a very invigorated Wolfie expounding the virtues of Northern Ireland's black taxis. I wanted to punch him in the face and open me piehole to argue but once again I was told to move along this time, by Thomas.
I offered the gravy to Matthew Crawley who said, "Yes pleasie O'Sully an iffin yer wood puttie in me glass a shottie a scotch." I could only see the back of his blond head but the butchering of the English language could only present to me one person, the Weasil. "As you wish," I said hurrying back to the serving board and replacing the gravy with a scotch bottle which I poured a hefty amount of the amber liquid and ran back to place it. I took a quick look around as I went back to the serving board and out of the corner of me eye I saw Lord Grantham, and he looked like Lord Grantham! So I ventured another look and I saw Mrs. Levinson and the Dowager Countess and realised I was looking at the first, me mother-in-law the Dragon, and the second ME OWN APPLE CHEEKED, GREY HAIRED LITTLE MAM!
If that wasn't enough to wake me up I don't know what was, but the very next second me attention was on being told to "Go below stairs and bring up the pudding would you?" by Mr. Carson.
Me heart was pounding in me chest as I went down and I met the kitchen maid, Daisy and she looked exactly like Weasil's Amanda. I was confused, but I did have presence of mind to ask for the pudding.
"Ack! Do ya see me wit a puddin'?" She said being less than helpful.
"No, but . . . " I stuttered and saw Mrs. Patmore's back and ran forward to accost her for the pudding, thinking all the while how very short she was. "Mrs. P," I said to her busy back, "I've been sent for the pudding."
"'Av ya now?" She said not turning round, but continuing to scrub some pans.
"Yes, I have," I said looking around for the pudding and then realising she sounded like YOU. And it was YOU as she turned round, soap rag in one hand and sudsy pot in the other. I was stunned, how could this be? I had just seen you upstairs in a rather high child's chair carved like a throne sitting in the place of Lady Grantham!
"It's over there where the dessert is always put." You said not being very kind. "You should be upstairs moving furniture you don't know the first thing about service." And turning round you left me to scour the kitchen for the pudding, which I saw disappearing over Thomas's shoulder as he left to take it upstairs. I knew then I was in trouble with Mr. Carson big time.
I ran after Thomas but he seemed to always be twenty yards ahead of me no matter how quickly I ran to catch up. I never got back to the dining room because I ran smack into Mr. Bates who was snogging Anna. That was embarrassing because I blurted out (from me surprise), "I thought you were in the nick?"
"Now Mr. O'Sullivan that isn't quite in keeping with the downstairs creed, you never bring up anything undesirable unless you are at the staff table having tea." Anna remonstrated.
"Oh, I be terribly sorry," I said to Bates and Anna. "Carry on," I said and ran off to find I could not find the stairs to the upstairs. They were gone! I was in a bedroom, with red wallpaper and I knew, yes I did, THAT room was a room of death! Someone Turkish had died in there and as I stepped in I could smell something sort of Turkish, so I turned on the bedside light and nearly jumped out of me skin because there was Sir Richard Carlisle, the rich, powerful and ruthless newspaper tycoon I worked for, smoking with Sybil Fawlty (she, growing massive amounts of her blond hair while lying next to him). I remember thinking Sir Richard was smoking a joint he was, and the two of them were toking back and forth.
"Ohhh . . . " I said to them pointing at the joint.
"Oh I know, I know . . ." Sybil (who was really Dewdropper) said to me, "This isn't Colorado."
"OH it's you, you have something to say about the newspaper? Why aren't you working? What are you doing HERE? I told you to get the dirt on this family." Sir Richard said mistaking me for one of his reporters, or . . . was he? I simply did not know!
"He's not one of your reporters, that's just Basil, Basil Fawlty." Sybil corrected. "Why aren't you at the front desk?" She asked turning her attention me.
Me eyes must have opened wide, I felt me body as if it had changed, but it felt the same, I walked over to the Cheval glass and what I saw put me in a full-out faint.
When I revived I realised I saw how much I act like Basil Fawlty! I was in amok sweat over all this as you can well imagine. Even in me bad dream I was struggling with the fact that there I was in the red room of death with two people that shouldn't be in the same bed together, nor should either one of them be smoking a joint, AND that one of them would be more fit counting money and the other at a salon getting a hair cut! The worst of it was, as I sat on the floor I could still see me in the Cheval. I did look like John Cleese and I was not happy about that. No, not happy at all. This was a terrible revelation to yours truly. Oi!
This so upset me I awakened to find it was nearly time for me to get up anyway. Tonya was stirring and I waited for her to rouse. I had a burning question for her, yes I did and I meant to get an answer even if it was before I had me coffee.
"Ton," I said as she sat up and rubbed her eyes, "Who do I remind you of, just the first name that comes to you. Quick," I said not wanting her to think about it.
"Uh . . . Basil Fawlty, why?"
THERE IT WAS! OFFICIAL!!! Yes, when one's own wife says her husband reminds her of a bumbling British comedy character then it must be true! I was beside meself, but I kept it hidden. I was thinking she told me I reminded her of Ben Affleck and now? (See me blog story of 13 November 2012 Affleck, Affleck, AFLAC!) I got up, looked in the mirror and the first thing to go was the moustache I had grown over the holiday, the second was a vow to let the hair grow, and the last I grouped together: Not let me short temper get the best of me, try to feign not being incompetent about household items, and to hide any presentiment of arrogance that might creep out when I get set upon by the Dragon lady aka me mother-in-law.
I now have New Year's Resolutions. Something I've never participated in in me life. So this should be good. Meanwhile, I catch meself doing Basil-like things. I sometimes can't help meself, it is so hard to be unBasil-like when for all these years . . . I just can't stop. Even Tonya is now telling me when me alter-ego takes over and reminds me of it. I catch meself first but she chimes in to remind me what I just reminded meself of. I mean, what is the point in reminding me of what I just reminded meself? Oh never mind.
Gabe
Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved
