*insert cliche Monday yammering of your choice here*
Right back at ya.
I think I've really changed as a person this last year or so.
I don't think it's good.
I actually went out somewhere that could be considered a social outing Saturday night. Stop the presses. However my host and hostess did not receive my usual contribution of meaningless charm and wit and borderline humor. Instead? When speaking with the host about his front yard, instead of nodding or making a joke, I went on to mention some 30 shrubs he could plant by their Latin name. When looking at the charcoal on the grill, I went into a five minute speech of just the right color gray to properly sear the outside of the meat. During chatting over dinner, I offered recipes and ideas for table settings to the hostess. In fact, if I had a tracking device around my ankle I could have been Martha Stewart during the evening. But without the interesting prison stories she could tell.
You would think that a whole bottle of wine would have brought out a more interesting version of me. But no. I just became......
SUPERNERD! Mild mannered idiot by day, he spews boring drivel about gardening and cooking by night! Faster than super heated Wok, able to leap a Rubeckia Goldstrum in a single bound!
And even better by the time I left my sprained ankle had swollen to the size of a grapefruit so that I nearly had to crawl to the car. Swell.
Has this "person" been inside all along? Was it only the athletic ability that kept it at bay?
As soon as I can no longer run a sub-five minute mile I suddenly become Supernerd with coke bottle-birth control glasses held together with tape, a shirt buttoned to my chin and pants six inches too short. Someone help me.
The only place that may be suitable for me to go to is the garden center. There, at least, I may perform some helpful function to society in general. And it is there I go nearly every day. I think it's now obvious to people that I look like the kind of nerd who is chock full of garden knowledge. The past few weeks it has mostly been young ladies on their own who would come up and ask me things.
"excuse me, is this plant okay in full sun".
At first I was fearful that each was a non-remembered fling from the past who would see me and yell "you never called me you bastard!" and then knee me in my nether regions. Then I thought, oh maybe they're hitting on me or flirting! Ummm no, I believe they think "look at that poor sad man over there. I'll bet he knows about this stuff. Probably all he has in his life".
That's why the young ladies approach me!
I told myself this weekend that I would just go and speak to no one. No matter what I would keep to myself.
I was getting mulch as a couple beside debated which to get. The woman leaned towards "the pretty red stuff" while the man wanted the cheapest one. I said NOTHING and kept loading my own mulch. But they asked me! The woman said "could please tell us what you think?". NO NO! Just shrug and walk away. You DON'T have to do this! Walk away, Walk away!
"you don't want the red mulch, it's just colored with dye and looks bad in just a couple of weeks and costs double what you want is....."
I'm like a drug addict I think. I can't stop! As I pushed my cart away, still mumbling to myself about red mulch, I sought refuge amoungst the just arrived plant area. Suddenly I'm tapped on the shoulder.
"young man" says an elderly lady, "do you know much about Hostas?"
Of course I did! I no longer hid that I was Supernerd. She and I spent the next 10 minutes finding the right ones for her yard. Oh gawd.
Last night I was going for some "reading time" in the bathroom. Stacked up in the bathroom library, I had Martha Stewart Living magazine, a gardening book, two cooking publications and a Target ad.
One day you're a virile young man and the next you wake up and you're your Mother.
I think I'm going to buy a bunch of Cardigans to wear.

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