This morning, I made myself the only think I can cook (Gigi’s definition of cook–pour liberal amount of Folger’s Crystals into 20 oz. mug without using spoon, so that there is enough caffeine to have my brain fly out of my cranium, hit the ceiling, and reluctantly, crawl back in. 8 Splendas[or 6, 10-no method to the madness], and Fat-Free Milk, a.k.a. a tablespoon of milk in a huge contaiiner, watered down for the W.N.=Weight Neurotic.)
I sipped the too-dark concotion and it was sour-ish. Borderline Coffee. It’s a state. The coffee is still tecnically okay, but it’s starting to turn.(Who came up with that term? Turn? What is this? Does milk practice plies when we shut the refrigerator door?)
When I turned the big TWO-FIVE, my great uncle, known to smell of cigars and a musky cologne(that I caught him buying in bulk at a small Flea Market at the edge of Chelsea, but hit behind the fake Burberry scarves so as not to embarrass him). HE found ME and gave out what you all must have heard–”OY, MINE GREAT NIECE. OY, GEVALD! SHE NEEDS TO GET MARRIED! OY, GIGI! WE NEED TO FIND YOU A GOOD MAN! MAYBE WE WATCH TEVYE AGAIN. IF YENTEL WAS STILL AROUND, I WOULD MARRY HER NOW.”
Yep. I know. You heard it in Rochester. When you were listening to music so loud, and on such a high pitch, all the neighborhood dogs came a’ runnin’ and it wasn’t even “Who Let The Dogs Out?!”.
He then proceeded to speak(yell)(he is having problems with his hearing aid. It’s the one that is least seen by others, but can be problematic…So he takes it out, and fuhgettaboutit. We have to yell, use sign language, and then curse(under our breaths)because he says things very…matter of factly–as in the sour milk example.
Back to my 25th bday…. GreatUnc looked at me and said the following: “Gigi. You are like milk. You passed your expiration date. No boys will want you now. Once milk is rotten, boys go for the fresh milk.”
Essentially, he called me milk that has turned cheesy because it’s so rotten, and there are no takers.
I need a drink.
That was a few years ago.
Today’s coffee tastes…sour.
I need a drink. Bacardi, anyone, for the Unwanted Sour Milk Girl Past The Expiration Date?
Gigi, back again, missing you all—
It is so hard to write, when there is so much emptiness in one’s heart…
Yet there is so much pain as well, which makes the void larger….
Until next time…
DON’T BE INSULTED IF I DON’T OFFER YOU COFFEE. I MAY HAVE SAVED YOU FROM FOOD POISONING.