Change

or, daltonboy comes face to face with PTSD

We hear a lot about change these days. There are songs about change, political campaigns run on the promise of change, and spare change can buy a needy person lunch--or a stiff drink. I'm here to talk about The Change--yeah, that one. The one that doesn't get talked about enough, in my opinion. You may feel that this is too personal, or that sharing my experiences is inappropriate. I disagree on three points:

1. Not enough people talk about this stuff, which makes it unnecessarily mysterious and scary.
2. What better opportunity for all of us to laugh at me?
3. What you don't know could save your life. DB will back me up.

Here's a little example of the kind of thing I'm getting really good at, while we all patiently wait for my doctor to adjust my prescription and fix my hormones. Some of us are more serene about this than others.

Scene: the car, close to dinner time.

Me: What do you want for dinner? And by that I mean, where would you like to go, because I'm not cooking anything.

DB (fast learner): Uh . . . I don't care. What would you like?

Me: I don't know. Let's just go to Krispy Kreme.

DB signals and begins to change lanes, so as to head south, toward Krispy Kreme.

Me (not quite yelling): What are you doing? Are you insane? Did you actually think I was serious?

DB (changes lanes again and gets on the freeway heading north, toward home): Uh. No.

Me: Okay.

Silence.

Me: Of course, if I had been serious, I would have been ticked if you hadn't changed lanes.

DB: Right.

These are dark and perilous times, friends. We should all be very afraid. I have just realized that there could be any number of people just like me out there, free to roam the streets and interact with others. This terrifies me. My advice to you, which you'll take if you're smart, is to tread very lightly around any woman who appears to be between the ages of forty and sixty.

If a woman of this description belongs to your family, the best thing to do is give her whatever she wants, and act like she's completely sane, no matter what she says or does. In this way I am redecorating our kitchen without consulting anyone. The only hiccup we've had so far has been when I announced that I will be spray painting the KitchenAid, because it doesn't match. DB became very sad, and gently begged me to consider changing my mind. Fortunately, I was mostly kidding. Also, I had just purchased a cute pair of pants for $3, so I was in a pretty good mood.

No doubt more stories will follow, because this doesn't seem to be resolving itself instantly as I'd hoped it would. Stay tuned.