Melanie Gideon - Wife 22

William:He’s mean. He eats his own shit.

Me:Exactly my point. How much more truthful can you be? Willing to eat your own poop?

Nedra:Why does this lamb taste like face cream?

William:It’s the lavender.

Nedra( putting down her fork ) :Alice, is this your idea of a twist? The recipe said rosemary.

Me:In my defense, a rosemary bush looks almost exactly like a lavender bush.

Nedra:Yes, except for the purple lavender-smelling flowers.

9:01: Through the bathroom door

Peter:Can I talk to you in private?

Me:I’m going to the bathroom. Can it wait?

Peter( sounding teary ) :I have something to confess. I did something really bad.

Me:Please don’t confess. You don’t have to tell me everything. It’s good to keep some things private. You know that, right? Everybody has a right to a private life.

Peter:I have to. It’s weighing so heavy on me.

Me:How will I react?

Peter:You will be very disappointed and perhaps a little disgusted.

Me:How should I punish you?

Peter:I won’t need to be punished. What I saw was punishment enough.

Me( opening the door ) :Jesus, what did you do?

Peter( crying ) :I Googled P-O-R-N.

9:10: In the living room

Linda:I don’t understand why “roommate” is such a dirty word. Anybody who’s been married for more than ten years are roommates a lot of the time and if they don’t cop to that, they’re lying.

Nedra:Kate and I are not roommates.

Me:Yes, and you’re also not married.

Linda:Lesbians don’t count anyway.

Nedra:Gold-star lesbians. There’s a difference.

Me:What’s a gold-star lesbian?

Kate:A lesbian who’s never been with a man.

William:I’m a gold-star heterosexual.

Nedra:Alice, do you ever feel like you and William are roommates?

Me:What? No! Never!

William:Sometimes.

Me:When?

10:10: In Nedra’s office

William:I can’t believe we’re doing this. Why are we doing this?

Me:Because Peter was so traumatized. I have to know what he saw.

William( sighing ) :What’s Nedra’s password?

Me: Nedra . Should you type PORN in caps?

William:I don’t think it matters.

Me( gasping ) :Is that a butternut squash?

William:Is that an icicle?

Me:Oh, my poor baby!

William:Clear history.

Me:What?

William:Clear history, Alice. Quick, before Nedra’s spam folder is flooded with penis enlargement ads.

Me:I always forget to do that. Stop looking over my shoulder. Go on ahead. I just want to check Facebook.

William:You’re being very rude. There’s a roomful of people out there.

Me( waving him away ): I’ll be there in a sec.

( five minutes later ) I have a friend request? John Yossarian wants to be friends? John Yossarian? That name sounds familiar.

GOOGLE SEARCH “John Yossarian”

About 626,000 results (.13 seconds)

Catch-22, 1961 by Joseph Heller, All Time 100 Novels, TIME

Captain John Yossarian is a bomber pilot who is just trying to make it through WWII alive.

John Yossarian… Gravatar Profile

I’m John Yossarian. I rowed to Sweden to escape the insanity of war.

Captain John Yossarian: Catch-22

John Yossarian spends all his time in the infirmary pretending to be sick so he won’t have to fly… preservation of life.

Me( a smile breaking across my face ): Touché, Researcher 101.

( clicking confirm friend )

( sending him a post ) So- Yossarian lives.

38.“That is not a La-Z-Boy.”

“Alice, what do you think?”

“That depends. Are we speaking about the chair or the man?” I asked.

William had won a Clio for his La-Z-Boy spot and Peavey Patterson was throwing a party at Michela’s in his honor. We’d taken over the entire restaurant. I was stuck sitting at a table full of copywriters.

The chair-of course it was hideous but it did make the firm an awful lot of money, and now I was at this fancy party, so who was I to complain? The man-he was the opposite of lazy: in fact he was the very essence of drive and potential, standing there in his navy Hugo Boss suit.

I watched him surreptitiously. I watched Helen watching me watch him surreptitiously but I didn’t care; everybody was staring. People approached William nervously, like he was a god. And he was a god, the god of ugly recliners, Peavey Patterson’s very own Young Turk. People flitted around him, touching his forearm and shaking his hand. It was exhilarating to be that close to success, because there was always the possibility a bit of that success would rub off on you. William was polite. He listened and nodded but said little. His eyes drifted over to me, and if I didn’t know better I’d think he was angry-such was his glowering. But over the course of the evening, his gaze boldly and compulsively sought me out. It was as if I was a glass of wine and every time he glanced at me from across the room, he took a sip.

I looked down at my plate. My Linguine con Cozze al Sugo Rosso was delicious but virtually untouched, because all this clandestine staring was making me light-headed.

“Speech, speech!”

Helen leaned in and whispered in William’s ear, and a few minutes later William allowed Mort Rich, the art director, to ferry him to the center of the restaurant. He took a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, smoothed it out, and began to read.

“Tips for Giving a Speech.

“Make sure you are not in the bathroom when it’s time to make your speech.

“Thank your staff who helped you win this award.

“Pause.

“Never say you are unworthy of winning. This will offend your staff, who did all the work so you could stand up in front of everybody and take the credit for winning this award.

“Don’t thank the people who had nothing to do with you winning this award.

“That would be spouses, girlfriends, boyfriends, bosses, waiters and bartenders.

“On second thought, thank the bartender, who had everything to do with you winning this award.

“Pause.

“If you have time, call out each person’s name individually and compliment them.”

William glanced at his watch. “No pause.

“Smile, look humble and gracious.

“Close your speech with an inspirational comment.”

William folded up the paper and slid it into his pocket.

“Inspirational comment.”

The room exploded with laughter and applause. When William sat back down at his table, Helen took his face in her hands, looked deeply into his eyes, and then kissed him on the mouth. There were a few hoots and claps. The kiss went on for a good ten seconds. She glanced at me, flashing me a startled but triumphant look, and I turned away, stung, my eyes involuntarily filling with tears.