August 27th, 2008 by Julie Silver
Two games left in that stadium with The Team That Dare Not Speak its Name. Two hours until the first pitch. I might blog after the game. Last night the boys in red socks logged a W (not a “dubya”) and I don’t want to give it, in the words of almost every one in my life over 60, “a kenna hora”. From my mouth to God’s ear, we should have another W, live and be well, poo poo poo.
Here’s what I’m thinking about: My friend Dave, let’s call him the Rhoda Morgenstern in my life, always has the same answer when I ask him how he’s doing. “Read my blog”, he says. I’m not too keen on that answer. Don’t get me wrong–I read his blog all the time. But when I ask, I actually want him to tell me how he’s doing. I don’t want to read what tens of thousands of other people are reading. I don’t want a status update. I mean, he’s practically my husband (if that were in any way possible, which it isn’t). As I used to say to my daughter, “Use your words, honey.” Of course, that was before she started a punctuation-free sentence about a year ago which still has no end in sight.
If I took his advice and read the blog to find out how he’s doing, we’d never talk. Which is sometimes what I think my go-to play date, my afternoon movie partner, my sushi loving friend of friends might really be looking for. But I know in my heart that this cannot be.
Some say the definition of a bore is someone who tells you how they REALLY are when you ask. Sometimes waiters come to my table during a meal and ask me “Is ANYTHING alright?” But floating somewhere in the middle of all of it is the language that only two friends can speak. The low-down. The skinny. Just the facts, ma’am. The ugly truth. The real deal.
The Rhoda and Mary.
Let’s face it. There isn’t much I don’t want to hear. Except of course anything that has to do with The Team That Dare Not Speak its Name.