And then one day I just stayed in bed, under the covers, eating mozzarella cheese. A mental health day? Perhaps. A day of feeling sorry for our mess of a country moment, indeed. With so many things on my “to do”list the pathetic state of affairs has immobilized me. I got tagged and today I’m It. Devastatingly in a crowd of millions. We are barely living through the Kavanaugh Countdown. With no obvious panacea, but time, I long to watch reruns of Dobie Gillis, I Married Joan and Topper. I derive comfort in exhuming memories of eating a can of Buitoni ravioli after school before I left to go to my algebra tutor. Gornisht Heflin, I barely passed the class anyway. Did anyway need to know what a parallelogram or a quadrilateral was ever?
Ah, simple joy of listening to AM radio on the drive over. The days when one of our greatest pleasures was hearing the Temptations, as we were “not to proud to beg” while we waited to be built up by buttercups, knowing at this point it was the “worst that could happen.” Run on counters I know. I’d drive under the tressel , make my way through third ward park and look to see if my latest boyfriends car was parked there. How easily serotonin and endorphin rushes happened in the long ago and far away days, we so long for now. If only we were living the days when busy signals offered the worst of frustrations. When setting our hair with pink plastic rollers and enduring the fumes of Aqua Net hairspray was one of our toughest endurances. Only if, our not so guilty pleasures were peanut cheddar crackers, Ring Dings or Funny Bones and a can of Tab, the acronym for the first (Totally Artificial Beverage). With lots of quarters, nickels and dimes I’d stop to get my algebra snack at the candy store next to Jan, Jill and Jon on Main Avenue. Shout out to Rhoda and Seymour Zucker ( antique aficionados) for 50 years . What a run. Side bar, your Honor. Those were the times before rats were tested for lethal saccharine levels. Loved the rush from Tab.
So we wait under the covers with bated breath as we watch as our future decisions will be weighed in by one more unstable narcissist who has perfected the art of lying through his teeth. We pray for the times we imagined that when Cosmo Topper, married Joan the only thing that was artificial was the beverage he toasted with. Hashtag Sad.