Blogging Widowhood

What do you do when you don't have anybody to talk to?

You blog.

I can talk to Brendan, but some topics just don't appeal to him. And, of course, being 17, he is always right.

Occasionally, something happens that makes me think, "Jim'll love this!" Well, he would have, if he were still here.

Today, Ramona cussed. Ramona doesn't cuss. The worst thing I've heard out of her mouth on the past two years is "razzlefratz," which she says when the thread breaks, or she is short 6" of trim, or some other sewing/design disaster occurs.

So, imagine my surprise when I walked into the office today and heard her on the phone totally cussing up a storm: "He's fucking pissed off? I'm the one who's fucking pissed off! They're my fucking costumes that he's had since October 31 of last year, and if he doesn't want me to charge him with theft in the amount of $435, he'd better get them back to me right away!"

She had this cute way of pronouncing it, too. Almost as if it had no vowels. "Fckn" was what it sounded like.

It turned out that she could hear the offender in the background of the call, and he had said that she was "starting to fucking piss him off."

Now, Ramona is a gorgeous woman. Under 50, by a year or two, she looks maybe 39. She has a wealth of soft blonde hair, is always impeccably made up, and dresses appropriately for business, with a hint of sexiness barely concealed. And she is every inch a lady.

Jim would have howled with laughter to hear about her cussing like that!

So, Dearly Beloved, I have realized that, as I no longer have him to talk to, y'all are stuck with me.

You probably figured that out months ago, didn't you?