The Summer I Had to Keep Buying Mayonnaise
Or, how Fletch is more prepared for a zombie attack than a power outage.
I did a podcast interview with Aliza Licht today, which means I spent an hour talking about myself.
I mean, I was supposed to; that’s how podcasts work. It wasn’t like we went to lunch and I thought to myself, I bet she would love a monologue about me, me, me, so let’s get after ‘er. Although I bet every single one of you can think of that narcissistic pal who totally does this, and you leave the meal feeling less “uplifted” and more “ignored.” (These are not your good friends; stop making time for them.)
Point is, I was supposed to talk about myself, I swear. I'll link to the interview when it goes live. I believe we’re looking at early November, but her interviews are so useful and informative and smart, you should probably start listening immediately.
We discussed why I haven’t put out a memoir in a while, and that reason is that largely nothing interesting is happening in my life. A whistling jackass across the street is barely a blog entry, let alone a book. So many of my non-fiction books have been about trying to solve a problem. I generally come away from these year-long projects having learned something, bettering myself in the process. I rarely make the same mistake twice, save for when it comes to reading expiration dates on food labels. (Yes, we did have another incident last night. The fact that I had no recollection of buying those Korean short ribs at Trader Joe’s should have been a heavy clue as to their vintage nature, but here we are.)
For a while, I thought I might have something to say about aging, but Laurie Notaro, Jen Mann, and Wendi Aarons have so thoroughly and hilariously covered the topic, I feel like I have nothing to add. Also, I’m lying about my age now and am due for fillers and a root touch-up, so I’m just going to Benjamin Button myself going forward, making it a non-issue.
Back to the notion of learning lessons and the nature of today’s Throwback Thursday post. This entry comes from July, 2011, a period of time I call “The Summer I Had to Keep Buying Mayonnaise,” thanks to five power outages.
So, onto the story, and then the commentary.
Fletch believes we should be prepared for any eventuality. Maybe it's his military training or perhaps he watches too much it's-the-end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it Discovery Channel programming. But for whatever reason, he's concerned an apocalypse will occur in our lifetime and when it happens, he assures me we'll be ready.
Bless his tin foil hat wearing-heart.
[DID HE EVENTUALLY SUCK ME UNDER WITH HIS INSANITY AND THEN ABANDON ME THERE ALONE AS HE ADOPTED A SUNNIER VIEW OF HUMANITY? YES, HE DID, THANKS FOR ASKING.]
Fletch converted our basement to a veritable Army surplus store when we moved to the suburbs last year. Tucked between plastic tubs of ancient sorority sweatshirts and framed photos of me from a spectacularly big-haired time period, Fletch has been squirreling away everything from water purification tablets to Arctic weather-grade sleeping bags.
He promises nothing will catch us at unawares. Like, if a riot breaks out on the mean streets of Lake Forest? Perhaps in the main square by J. Crew or the Talbots? Across from the farmers market where they sell those magnificent heirloom tomatoes? Then his grenade simulators will disperse any crowd!
[OUR MOVERS FOUND THE CASING TO ONE OF HIS STUPID GRENADE SIMULATORS AS THEY WERE PACKING US UP LAST YEAR. LARGE TIPS AND APOLOGIES WERE ISSUED.]
Chemical attack? No worries! Fletch's pre-measured sheets of window sealing-plastic and industrial strength duct tape are located on the shelf next to the box containing my Christmas nativity scene.
And if the Russians ever invade a la Red Dawn, trust me when I say it will be Fletcher shouting "Wolverines!" and leading the counterattack.
If being ready is a virtue, then my man is Mother Teresa on steroids.
I, too, believe in being prepared. That's why you'll never find me without dental floss, an extra pair of sunglasses and a fully charged Kindle in my purse. Maybe I can't kill marauding communists from a bad '80s movie with these items, but I'm guaranteed to never squint, flash a spinach-laden smile or be forced to make awkward conversation in the checkout line at Costco.
[I NEVER CARRY A BAG I CAN’T FIT A PAIR OF SHOES AND A BOTTLE OF WINE IN, BECAUSE YOU NEVER KNOW.]
We're finally put to the test almost a year after Fletch started stockpiling…
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