Don’t Cry for Me

An odd exchange happened (or in some ways, didn’t happen) this evening.

First, I had spent part of the day at Mom’s. When I get home from Mom’s I am usually confronted by Bachelor Gary. Bachelor Gary has spent the day in his underwear sweatpants, eating all the food in the fridge that does not require microwavery, and watching crap TV. Usually I arrive and find he has been so brainwashed from having had the day entirely to himself that he is outraged that I would expect him, the King, to get off the couch and unload the groceries. On top of that, he demands I pay full attention to him. Plus, he will not give up the remote. This is why I found myself watching The Girls Next Door this evening.

I am not a big fan of this show. I applaud the older savvy one for roping Hef into marriage, but I want to smack the blond off the other two bimbos. Especially the one with the pink diamond grille. After she “found” her grille in her purse, I got up and went into the music/computer/guest room, aka my room, to read more of Middlesex. (Incidentally: This book was written for me. I keep encountering little asides that seem like tiny little shout-outs to me alone.)

I hadn’t been in my room twenty seconds, in fact I hadn’t dug through the duvet to find the book yet when Gary shrieked, “What? Are you just going to abandon me? I thought we were going to spend the evening together!”

Watching giggly squealing blonds? Nooo thank you. “Is it okay if I bring my book?” I yelled back. “Sure!” he answered. So I tromped in and ignored the Girls Next Door who were squealing “Oh, My F&^#$ing GAWD” over the bowling suite at the Sands, and instead I kept up with my girl Callie Stephanides. In fact, when Gary was interrupting me to explain some detail of the background history of one of the Playboy Bunnies, I actually shushed him.

At some point, his office called. He had been threatening to go to work to nurse his computer system through the Big DST Transition, but instead he fell under the Bunny Influence. After he hung up, he gave me the benefit of a lengthy lecture on …. on …. I have no idea. The shushing had been so easy I found it easy to tune him out. Every once in a while I would say yes, but frankly, it was obvious I was reading. And obvious I was not at all listening to him.

After twenty minutes of reading through the diatribe, it occurred to me that this must have been why Juan Peron preserved Eva Peron after she died. He didn’t want communication, marital congress, or even eye contact. He just wanted her in the room.