The Suburban You Page 18
Your wife has another two calls to make about the school benefit, which she is organizing. These are not brief calls, because there is no such thing as a brief call with your wife. There are many, many very important details to discuss. Everything must be perfect.
You hang out with the kids and play with them. You try not to make too much noise with them, because this will get your wife upset while she is on the phone. Rather than her moving to another room to continue her conversation, she will point her finger at a forty-five-degree angle upward, indicating that she wants you to take the kids upstairs so that you don't distract her while she's on her call.
The phone rings again and the caller ID says Jaynor, Richard, a name that you do not recognize. While the phone is ringing, you hand it to your wife and she says that it is Sue from book club. Another twenty-five-minute discussion. “Sue needed to know what book we were reading this month,” your wife says after hanging up.
Again, the phone rings and you try something that you rarely attempt. You answer the phone without looking at the caller ID. It is Beth. “Hang on a minute, Beth,” you say politely. “Let me get Diane for you.” After climbing two flights of stairs to find your wife, you indicate to her that Beth is on the phone, and she looks at you with an annoyed expression. She does not feel like talking on the phone and implies, with her annoyed facial expression, that you were somehow supposed to know that. You can tell by your wife's expression that you must tell Beth that your wife is busy putting your daughter to bed and that she will give her a call back. How can you be so stupid as to assume that your wife wanted to talk on the phone with Beth?
Later that night, you listen to the message machine to hear that your father left a message for you earlier that day. You have one call to return, an important one. Your father wants to check up on his stock portfolio, which you manage for him. You reach for your Blackberry, where you have his phone number, and then reach for the phone.
“What are you doing?” your wife asks. “I am calling my father back.” “Now?” she says. “Yes, I need to talk with him for one minute”—the average length of the few calls a week you make from home. “He wants to know if I purchased General Dynamics for him today.” “What about the kids? Are you going to ignore the kids? They haven't seen you all day long,” she says.
You sheepishly put the phone down and know that you will have to make this thirty-second call after the kids are asleep. You hang out with the kids and put your son to bed. Your wife puts your daughter to bed. You emerge from your son's room and reach for the phone. You pick it up to hear your wife on the phone downstairs. You put the phone back in the cradle and accept that you will return your father's call tomorrow from work.
So Tell Me All About Your Thong Underwear
You and your wife attend an evening fund-raiser for an organization that you will call Kids First. Of the many fund-raisers that you attend annually, this one is the most fun because almost everyone who lives in your suburb comes out to support the event. It is a big neighborhood party at the local club.
You show up at the event, and every which way you turn there are ways to spend money. You already dropped a few hundred dollars on the admission tickets. There are raffle tickets for bicycles, opportunities for kids to be Chicago Cubs bat boys for a day, shopping sprees at Nike Town, and hundreds of other items, which for the most part you do not pay attention to because you have been drinking beer and wine and hanging out with all of your friends. Besides, you have “won” enough items at prior fund-raisers to know that tomorrow the items you fight hard to pay outrageously for tonight will seem ridiculous to you, largely due to the two beers and two glasses of red wine that will impair your buying judgment.
Tonight, most of the people whom you hang out with are guys, because tonight they, like you, are trying to avoid any additional cash outlay during this economically challenging time. You all know, however, that your wives are spending their time determining the best items for you to “win” that evening. You will better understand how your wife spent her evening when you stop by the checkout table on your way out.
Every two years, Kids First elects a president, an upstanding volunteer from the community, to do, well, you are not sure exactly what. During the current term, the president is a woman whom you know and enjoy joking around with named Lynne O'Donnell. That evening, Lynne told you that the Kids First presidency was not all that it was cracked up to be and that, going in, she thought that she could have more impact on the organization than she was actually able to. “Kids First does not like change,” she tells you. “They only want to maintain the status quo.”
It is interesting, you think, that Lynne has revealed herself to you in that way, because you know Lynne to be a person who does not like to say negative things, even when she has negative thoughts. You think that Lynne has revealed herself to you in this manner because, like you, she may have had two beers and two glasses of wine.
You break away from your conversation with Lynne and find yourself standing alone in a corridor outside the bidding room, waiting for your wife to place her final “winning” bid on two Cubs baseball game tickets. “Can you believe that I got the tickets for only $410?” she says excitedly, as though she has just won something.
Lynne approaches you while you are standing in the corridor outside the bidding room. She is feeling guilty for expressing a negative thought to you three minutes earlier and apologizes for being a negative person. You think she tells you this because she feels guilty. You did not really take notice of, nor would you probably remember, the conversation tomorrow, but now that you suspect that Lynne feels guilty about revealing a negative thought to you, you can joke with her about this so that she will never forget. She makes you swear that you will not tell anyone.
Lynne, looking for something to do with her nervous energy while feeling overwhelmed with guilt, slips her right hand, so that it almost fully disappears, inside the front of her pants and pulls out a business card–size piece of card stock, which was sandwiched between her skin and her skin-hugging pants, with the number 37 written on it. Your eyes involuntarily follow the movements of her right hand as she does this.
With that, you ask Lynne—the thin, in-shape, skin-tight short shirt and skin-tight pant wearing, flat-and-exposed tummy Kids First president—“What exactly was securing that card with the number 37 written on it between you and your pants?” because you didn't really notice any visible means of support for the card. You then realize that you did notice a thin strap of white fabric, so you continue your inquiry, asking the president of Kids First a question that you know would embarrass her had she not consumed the beer and wine that you suspect she has. “Is that a thong you are wearing?” you ask, expecting her to ignore you. “Yes, it is,” she says with pride, smiling a thong-wearing smile because you have discovered something about her that she tells you not even her husband is aware of.
Well, all of a sudden this fund-raiser has gotten a hell of a lot more interesting for you. “Why bother?” you ask. “Isn't it uncomfortable?”—equating it to a wedgie, something to which you can relate. While wondering who else among you is wearing a thong tonight, you ask, “Doesn't it feel like you are being crept up upon?” trying desperately to think of anything to say to keep this conversation from dying.
As your blond, long-haired, in-shape, skin-tight-outfit-wearing, quick-witted wife walks over to ask you for your credit card, she realizes immediately that you and the Kids First president are discussing the features and benefits of thong underwear, and when she does she reveals to you and the Kids First president that she too is wearing a thong, a fact that you wish you had been previously aware of. This fund-raiser has now just gotten twice as good as it was ten minutes earlier, and ten minutes earlier it was pretty damn good. To you and your wife, Lynne offers that the main benefit of the thong is that there is no VPL, a fact with which your wife concurs. Then, to you, they both demonstrate what they are talking about. It is a demonstration that you enj
oy, and one that will make the $410 baseball tickets and whatever else you have “won” that night seem like a good value, even tomorrow. Not taking this conversation quite as far as you would have liked to, you reluctantly break away and head over to the checkout table. “Let's go,” your wife says.
From this evening forward, you have a newfound appreciation for all the responsibility that comes with the position of the Kids First presidency. This school fund-raiser, with this Kids First president, you come to realize, is one that you will never, ever forget for as long as you live.
This evening, you go home and have sex with your wife.
A week after the Kids First fund-raiser, where you discovered that the thin, in-shape, tight-pants- and short-tight-shirt-wearing Kids First president wears thong underwear, and after doing so were able to so brilliantly engage her in a lengthy discussion on the topic, you attend a birthday party for some friends of yours, a couple, who are both turning forty that month. This is a fun, informal fortieth-birthday party where alcohol is being served, people are not standing up at a microphone to share their feelings about the forty-year-olds, and everyone knows one another. It is a good time.
You are talking with John, a friend of yours, about skiing, one of your favorite topics and his, especially when it involves Jackson Hole or Telluride, and out of the corner of your eye during this ski/snowboard/Telluride/Jackson Hole discussion you see Lynne, your Kids First president. She is wearing a skin-tight fitting outfit, no VPL, and her flat tummy is exposed. From afar, you become curious about her conversation, whatever it might be about, and you prematurely conclude your ski conversation with John to “go get a refill,” even though your glass is not empty. “Excuse me,” you say to John, “I'll be right back”—knowing that you are going to continue the thong-underwear discussion that you started only one week ago with Lynne, the Kids First president, who is off-duty tonight. You do not expect to see John for the rest of the evening.
You see that Lynne is holding an almost empty margarita glass, a good sign, you think, that your conversation with her will be more interesting than any ski talk.
On the way over to the professionally staffed bar, you just happen to walk by Lynne. “Oh, Lynne,” you say as spontaneously as you can, given the planning that went into this encounter. “How are you doing?” She is talking with two other people and she sort of breaks away from her conversation with them to talk with you, or that's what you think, anyway. You give Lynne a knowing smile, like you are sharing her thong-wearing secret with her, and she looks at you with a “Stop smiling at me like that, you creep” expression.
Your main interest in talking with Lynne at this moment is to rekindle the intriguing conversation that was so abruptly ended at the school fund-raiser last weekend.
Explaining the smirk that is on your face and trying to open the door to the last and most interesting conversation you have ever had with Lynne, you ask, “So, Lynne, tell me, are you wearing a thong tonight?”
She looks at you and she does not smile. In fact, her facial expression changes from carefree to concerned or puzzled; no, make that pissed off, like you said something entirely inappropriate, or like you did not pull over to the side of the road to let her pass. “What are you talking about?” she asks, in a manner that suggests you have offended her. You laugh, knowing that Lynne is just goofing you, but her expression does not change and she is really pissed off. You can tell that she is not messing around.
“Lynne, do you remember our conversation at the Kids First fund-raiser on Saturday?” “You were there?” she says, in a surprised manner, adding, “I didn't see you there. Wasn't it so great this year?” “It was terrific,” you reply. “In fact, it was the best Kids First fund-raiser that I have ever attended. I learned so much about the management of Kids First.” “We raised $260,000—isn't that incredible!” Lynne exclaims. “It has been such a rewarding year to be involved with Kids First. We made a lot of great changes this year.”
In your peripheral vision, you see John and excuse yourself from Lynne. You quickly make your way back to John. “So, John, isn't Corbet's Couloir one of the hairiest runs that you have ever skied?”
Your friend, neighbor, and baseball co-coach, who is a Hollywood screenwriter, writes and has published a letter to the editor in your local newspaper, a newspaper that is circulated to subscribers that reside in your suburb and the wealthier suburb to the immediate north of your suburb. His letter to the editor, like the Christmas cards this guy writes, is very funny. It is filled with funny stories that support his basic premise that a two-week winter school vacation is way too long. Over that period the kids start driving everyone crazy. He writes that it has gotten so bad that he gives each of his kids $50 and sends them off on their bikes to a shopping mall that is twenty miles from where he lives, just to get them out of the house. He is, of course, joking, and you laugh when you read his letter. In your mind, it warrants a thoughtful response, especially after you heard that some people had called him, upset, thinking that he was serious and that he was really starting to drink more.
One morning at two o'clock you wake up out of a sound sleep with an idea for a response to his letter. Your idea is to write what a great vacation you had with your family because you did so many worthwhile things with your kids. You hyperbolize, like you have throughout this book, about things you did over the vacation and write about them in a way that you think is very funny. That next evening, you type this letter into your computer, print it out, and read it to your wife, who is usually fairly reserved when you read to her all the funny e-mails and thank-you notes that you write. She laughs uncontrollably. She has sex with you that night.
The next morning, Saturday, you tune it up, print it out, and while on your run you drop it off at your friend's. You choose not to submit it to the editorial department of your suburban paper because you are not sure that everyone who lives in your suburb will understand your humor and you don't want to expose yourself in that manner to your entire suburb, like you have here.
When you return from your run, your friend and his wife are on the phone with your wife. You don't realize this at first, but then your wife hands you the phone. They are laughing and tell you that they thought your letter was funny. To you, this is a big compliment. Your friend has written a bunch of big-time Hollywood movies; he is a neighborhood celebrity; he knows funny writing, and he is on the phone complimenting you on your letter. His wife concurs. They moved to your suburb from Hollywood. They are your friends. And you have made them laugh with something you wrote.
You e-mail a lot, mostly because you have a portable device called a Blackberry, which allows you to send and receive e-mails anywhere. Frequently you send what you think are funny e-mails. Sometimes people even tell you that your e-mails are funny (but not as often as you write them). You even compile a book of your funniest e-mails at the end of the year and give it to your friend-boss. He tells you they are funny, and his wife has told you repeatedly that you should write a book of travel stories, because you travel a lot and some e-mails that she has read, that you have written, make her laugh.
You think on that and the next day, which is a Sunday, you start to make a list of humorous events based on your life in the suburbs. For each instance, you think of a story and you start laughing. You start writing these stories down, and as you do so, you exaggerate them, and laugh some more. They come easily and seem to pour out of you. To you they are as funny as the events you described in that letter to your friend. One reason you think that these situations are so funny is that your stories are told from a guy's perspective, a perspective that is often neglected in your suburb.
The next day, Monday, you travel to New York. You return on Tuesday and on Wednesday you are off to Montreal. You have been writing since Sunday, when you have the time, like from 4 to 6:30 A.M., and 9 P.M. to midnight, and you think that this book idea of yours is materializing. It is jelling. It is happening. It's yours.
You arrive home from Mo
ntreal and pull up to your house at 5:30 P.M. in the car that usually picks you up at the airport. You walk in the house and like many times when you enter a room that your wife is in, she seems startled. This puzzles you, but she is happy to see you and you are happy to see her.
As you are taking your coat off, your wife informs you that she has an idea. This is an introduction that you have heard before and an introduction that usually ends up costing you money. It is the same introduction that initiated the $1,600 kids' bathroom ceiling painting project. You exercise the active listening skills that you learned when you were a Camp Tamarack counselor and say, “You have an idea, honey?” She says, “Yes, I have an idea. I was thinking that we can write the book together.”
You dwell on this surprising thought of hers for a minute or two before you respond. First, you cannot think of one book with which you are familiar that was written by two authors. Second, you have an image of this book as being your own project, one of the few things in your life that you can call your own. Third, your idea is to make sure that the guy's (your) perspective surfaces in the book; that is one of the reasons why this book will be funny. You have visions of what it would be like writing a book with the same woman who has redecorated your front hallway entryway table in such a way that you can no longer find your Blackberry, keys, cell phone, and wallet and that every time you need to look for something you must search through five clasped ornamental boxes that sit on the entryway table, one of which has been turned backward because your wife didn't think that the front of it was attractive. The same woman who wants to attach herself to your project has relocated your running shoes to a place that you, in a million years, would have never thought of, because one day she did not think that they looked good in the place where you had kept them for the preceding 1,780 days.