My husband rarely involves himself with my blog. Well, if I beg him to type for me because I’m too sick to lift my fingers. Or if I’m away from my computer due to a blog fieldtrip of some sort. Or that time I was on way too much medication. But other than that…he steers clear.
Then there’s tonight.
We were sitting in the bookstore café, my husband on his laptop, me on my new Nook, and we were attempting to enjoy a quiet evening, surrounded by a crowd of people. On any ordinary evening, this is no problem. There is something sacred about the bookstore. People somehow know to treat the space within those walls like a church…
Or a library.
And then in walked Allison.
Who is Allison, you ask? Allison is the girl sitting two tables away… on a first date it would seem. How do I know it was a first date? Why…I know everything about Allison…she made quite sure of that.
Allison spoke as if she was on a stage, trying to ensure the people in the back row could hear her. And trust me…the people in the back row heard every word.
I now know all about her best friends Amy and Amanda…the drunken night they all spent at the local hangout. And the laundry list of guys who hit on them. And what they drank. And how Amanda was still just as drunk when she woke up the next day as she was when she passed out in the bathroom, hunched over the toilet.
And then Allison introduced us to her cat, Jenny. She talked a lot about Jenny.
Did I mention this was a first date? I wanted to walk up to her table and whisper in her ear, “Guys hate when you talk about your cat.” But I didn’t.
Instead I listened to the guest list for her impending college graduation. Oh, the party they had planned. Her aunt Millie was flying in from the Midwest. Aunt Millie is apparently one heck of a gift giver.
I wasn’t trying to listen. I really wasn’t. Allison was just such a consummate performer. The entire room was listening. We shared sideways glances at each other…wondering if we were the only ones who noticed. And clearly…we weren’t.
I debated, once again, getting up and approaching her. I wanted to tell her how fascinating I found her conversation…but I’d rather not hear it just the same. I thought about asking her to use her “indoor” voice. I considered going all “Bette Davis” on her ass and compare her to Joan Crawford. In fact, I found myself using my best Bette Davis voice as I talked to myself.
Things were getting bad. It was all I could do to hold myself in my chair. And the people around me were egging me on with their sympathetic looks. They wanted me to take her out…restore the serenity to the bookstore. And I so wanted to restore the serenity.
So instead, I pulled out my phone and clicked the voice recorder. Rather than going all ninja Bette on her, I decided to save her conversation for posterity. It’s not considered eavesdropping if she’s talking so loud my recorder picked up her voice from MY table…right?
And that’s when my husband decided to get involved with my blog. He said I absolutely MUST blog about the adventures of Amy and Amanda…and Jenny the cat.
And of course Allison…the girl who told the story so very well.
Until the next time…I’ll be erasing the recording so I never have to hear her voice again!