My Rough Life

It’s a rough life to be both hard of hearing and dense.

So many times someone says something to me that calls for a quick and witty response and all I can manage is "Huh??"

Last Sunday we had a potluck after the baptism for all the family and friends who came. I was rattling around the church kitchen when my friend Sharon’s neighbor, John, came up to me and said, "So you’re the blonde lady?"

(Blonde lady? What on earth? I have been many things but never blonde.)
"Excuse me?"
"The blonde lady."

In the background, Sharon said, "Yeah, that’s her."

John went on, "Yeah, we read your blog, discuss it…"

Oh forevermore, he meant BLOG lady.

I tried to recover my tattered dignity. "Heh heh, how nice, thank you."

* * *
Some people are safe and others are dangerous. Paul is a safe person, calm and dignified, no big surprises, nothing sly.

The abovementioned Sharon, on the other hand, is a dangerous person. She says the abovementioned John is too, but she deserves everything he does and says.

Sharon has this wild and wicked sense of humor that brings out the worst in people, especially the minister’s wife who is trying to maintain an illusion of being sober, grave, holy, and temperate.

Sharon and her sidekick, Rachel, have this dreadful way of staying about ten feet away from me when I’m trying to have an earnest conversation with someone after church. They put their heads together and talk too quietly for me to hear, but every few seconds they up the volume, insert my name in the conversation, and look at me like conspiring seventh-graders. "Pssshh psshh DORCAS murmur murmur DORCAS (sideways glance at me) pssh pssh pssh DORCAS."

Well, it drives me crazy, and I can’t carry on an intelligent conversation to save my life. So I am driven to measures that are not sober, grave, holy, or temperate, such as (horrified whisper) chucking a wet napkin at Sharon in the fellowship hall, and then I feel guilty for a day and a half.

It’s a rough life.

Quote of the Day:
"Note as I’m accelerating the cheeseballs would go BACK."
--Matt, when he was driving me to the VBS program, the others having gone earlier, and I thought he was driving too wildly and was worried the cheeseballs and crackers in the back seat were going to slide off into destruction