Seven Things About You That I’m DESPERATELY Trying To “Tolerate”

I think about all the men I’ve had in my life, not that I’ve got Madonna’s Sealy-Posturepedic track record by any means (my bedpost has far less notches….and teeth marks) but I’ve had other relationships and the very best thing I can say about them is that they are over.

But that ‘s not the case with us.

What we have is alive and enduring and sustained in part, by the fact that I love you and apparently, you love you too.

A lot.

Even so, you are an enlightening presence in my life. That is undeniable and I’m learning a great deal from you about who I am. What concerns me though, is my current emergence. You might not like the woman who’s bounding forth from this tightly wound cocoon which at one time, encapsulated me and so much lingering self-doubt. Then again, I might now be exactly who and what you want me to be. What you’ve always wanted. But I feel it’s within my right to express that I’m a bit worried about this. You see, I just hope this renewed appreciation doesn’t come too late.

In the meantime, as we endeavor to keep our relationship within the bounds of propriety, I have decided to change my tack. I’ve been the one who’s fueled the emotional fire between us, but as per your request and that which stems from my boredom with feeling rather alone in the face of our being together, I’m quashing that one-sided behavior like Judge Lance Ito and suppressed evidence in the Simpson trial.

I will do this by committing ONLY to what I can and that includes trying to tolerate some of the insane things you say and do and posses corporally and let me tell ya something, Joy Pecs…I’m trying DAMN hard.

These things are listed as follows:

1. You call the grocery store “the market”. ,Cute for a while. Now? Not so much. You also verb it out. You go “marketing”. For some reason, hearing this is like fingernails on a chalk board. I know of NO other human, much less a man who says this. So I gotta ask–when you buy meat, do you go “butchering”? Is it also bakerying in your world? Dry cleanering?

2. When we’re together and classical music is on the stereo, you play the “air cello”.

3. You pronounce my name wrong. It is Laurie. The prefix is pronounced as one would say “law”. I’m not “Lorry”–that’s what the Brits call a truck. I know you could make a joke here, but I would think it wise if you refrained. Because I could make a joke, too…this one would be a witty analogy about this one man’s inability to “park” a certain “compact lorry” in a certain well constructed “garage”.

4. Your toenails. Sweetie, they’re talons. And that thing you call your big toe? It’s so odd looking, misshapen and discolored. For the first three months we were together, I thought that orange-ish growth was a misplaced Cheeto with a foot fetish.

You always slather it with anti-fungal creme. All things considered, I would think that you’d accomplish more by using French Onion dip.

5. You prefer my Midol over aspirin. I know they both contain the same ingredients and are essentially one in the same, but it’s….it’s…it’s Midol!!

6. You drive with both feet. One is poised above the brake pedal while the other steps on the gas and vice versa. This metatarsaled ambidexterity is just so damn freaky!! It looks weird and I know you continue to do this because you know it makes me nuts and you enjoy that. So, by all means, continue AND WHATEVER YOU DO, don’t stop there. PLEASE learn to change radio stations with your knee. God only knows what you could do with the cruise control!!!!!

7. Lastly and perhaps the most serious of this compendium, you don’t always fight fair and if that’s not bad enough, you know which buttons of mine to push and you push them intentionally. Why do you do that? You’re like this manic woman in that regard.

On second thought, keep taking the damn Midol!!


Must close now, but I’ll leave with you with this, my darling: make no mistake–I love you, but right now, I don’t like you. What’s happening between us now isn’t fair. I’ve accommodated you; I’ve tweaked what I can and yes, I’ve made the effort.

I’ve done my part.

Now, the ball is in your court. Seriously–change your ways. “We” need you to do this because if you don’t, I promise you, I won’t need need to use my phone’s caller ID to know it’s you ringing me.

I’ll simply recognize the precursory smell of gin and regret.





  1. I really think you should consult with me before you let losers like this into the life our little genius. How is he by the way? Still introverted, violent and antisocial I imagine, still you get that with geniuses. How is life my house too? Is there snow on the slopes? Oh well, just thought I would check in and see how you were going.

  2. I am fine.

    I miss you. Our ill gotten progeny misses you, too. He asks about you and I tell him you were killed in Nam…it’s easier that way.

    Of course, that would mean I was only seven when I conceived, but were illiterate and a pedophile and I was…well..rather promiscuous for post toddler. It all worked out.

    At that tender age, whenever I had to go to the OB/GYN for a prenatal check up, when I was told to put my feet in the stirrups, I fully expected a horsey ride. Well, it was a ride alright…but hardly what I expected.

    Hope things are well in the world of art and poetry. Again, long time no talk. I rarely get the chance to commune OR canoodle with someone who actually understand the gestalt that is me.


  3. Yes well, I always did try to communicate at your level. How is the sitcom business going? Still turning a quid? I hope so, the genius will need an English education after all and well you know expenses in the lifestyle, tax issues and so forth. Oh by the way, Random House have picked up my book. I will do a tour of The States, haha, later in the year. I would very much like to reacquaint myself with my record collection. If you can clear the house of hangers on by then.
    Yours remembering your outrageous nipples,

  4. Writing is still turning a quid…God knows you’re child support payments and various other penalties (for breaking the Moral Clause in our marriage contract) that the High Court forces you to pay certainly aren’t. But we manage.

    So, how are things in the land of the digirido? I’d come there for a visit but your current paramour insists that I digiridon’t. I don’t want to make waves, but well you know me Paul…I’ve never backed away from a big ol’ spoon that could stir a big ol’ cauldron of shit.

    Fear not–I’ve kept your records well. The Perry Como Greatest Hits LP, as well as the entire collection of the Mike Curb Congregation anxiously awaits your return. However, your coveted , “Steve Lawrence Sings ZZ Topp” didn’t survive the last move. Sorry Love..a Teamster stepped on it.

    If your parole officer…I mean Editor allows you a swing through God’s Country (ah yes…how you must miss Texas) then perhaps we can arrange a cara a cara tet a tet with me and The Genius…but there will be NO use of tongue, digits or your left knee. We’ll continue to play this relationship via Australian Rules, eh mate?

    Send me word by way of carrier pigeon. I’ll be standing by with Listerine.

    And some Foster’s.

    Much like,

  5. 6. You drive with both feet. One is poised above the brake pedal while the other steps on the gas and vice versa. This metatarsaled ambidexterity is just so damn freaky!

    Hey Lorry? Is my wife posting on your blog now? ‘cos she just mentioned something about this the other day when I drove her down to the market.

    And trust me, babe – the air cello doesn’t get nearly as many strange looks as the air oboe.

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