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"Can I help you?" asked the man at the fabric center.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm looking for foam."
"Foam? What kind of foam?"
"Um, foam. Foam that you use to make pillows," I explained.
He told me that they didn't sell foam, but there was a place in nearby Conway that did. "They'll cut it to the exact size you want."
Then he asked the question I was dreading.
"What are you going to use it for?"
"You don't want to know," I said.
He gave me a look like, come on Lady. I work in a damn Fabric Center. I've seen everything. You will not surprise me. You think you're the only woman who's made a futon for her cat?
"You really don't want to know," I repeated.
He raised an eyebrow and started to walk away.
"Okay I'll tell you," I said. "It's a prop for a play. I'm making boob prostheses for a woman who just had a mammogram."
He stopped for a minute. Then continued on his way to the back of the store.
"But they have to be rectangular," I said more loudly. Because he really needed to hear this.
"Cuz she just had a mammogram," I sad loudly.
"And both her boobs are squished into rectangles."
He shook his head.
"That sounds hysterical," said the woman who was standing nearby. (The one with a sense of humor.)
Who, clearly, had experienced more than her share of Mammograms.
I know that this may surprise my readers, but I fancy myself somewhat of a history buff.
Stop laughing. Especially you guys from Niagara Wheatfield who observed me sleeping though History class.
OK, so maybe I’m not in the same league as Mel Brooks. But I do love the soundtrack to Hamilton.
At any rate, here is your first Nerdling History lesson.
The year is 1707. The founding fathers of the small settlement in Eastern North Carolina are concerned about containing the growth of their community and keeping the commoners out.
They hold a secret meeting on a plot of land that will someday be home to The Dollar Store.
“We have to find a forgettable name for our community,” said Obadiah. “One that the riffraff will forget.”
“How about Yearjust?” suggested Absolom.
“Too memorable,” said Obadiah. “I like Withwere. Withwere, North Carolina.”
“Better, but we need something more obscure,” said Jedidiah. “I've got it: Havelock. Nobody will remember Havelock.”
They nod in agreement, and snicker in unison. They name their settlement Havelock, North Carolina.
And more than 300 years later I say to Dave, “Can you book us a hotel in Headlock?”
“Where?”
“You know. That place where Linda’s stationed. It’s not Headlock?”
“No. Guess again.”
“Locklear?”
“No." He tries to give me a hint. "Do you have a lock on your head?”
“What? I already said Headlock.” (I was beginning to get irritated.)
He tried again. “Do you HAVE a lock on your head?”
“Lockness?”
“Havelock!”
When we arrived at the Dreadlock Holiday Inn Express I understood why I was having such a hard time remembering the city. It’s really kind of unmemorable.
There’s no Target in Landlock. Only WalMart and a Dollar Store. And, not surprisingly, there are quite a few gun stores in Padlock.
NO! It’s Havelock.
I have a mental block against that stupid word. I decided to google Havelock. Maybe if I learned more about it, the name would sink into my brain.
I was shocked to learn that Havelock is named after Sir Henry Havelock.
I know what you’re thinking. Who the hell is Sir Henry Havelock?
Apparently Sir Henry Havelock was a British General known for his recapture of Cawnpore from rebels during the Indian Mutiny of 1857.
OK, but what does Sir Henry Havelock have to do with North Carolina?
Ah-Ha!
I guess I my history lesson wasn’t that far off.
“How about Gereral Washington?” suggested Absolom.
“Too memorable. I like Lafayette,” said Obadiah. “Lafayette, North Carolina.”
“Better, but still easy to remember,” said Jedidiah. “I've got it: Havelock. Nobody will remember Havelock.”
Kimmy wasn't nearly as impressed with my new sunglasses as I was.
"Where did you get those?" she asked. '
"At a VERY upscale store in Snowmass Village," I said, a wee bit defensively.
"I hope you didn't pay too much," she said, just as Dave rounded the corner sporting his own pair, purchased from the same rack.
She groaned audibly.
"Dad. You do know those are women's glasses, don't you?"
Dave shrugged his shoulders and said, "They were the cheapest ones on the rack."
"You look like an Aspen Drag Queen." she observed.
I laughed.
"But they look better than Mom's,"
What? Dave's Aspen Drag Queen women's sunglasses look better than my uber-cute big-ass Teal sunglasses?
I had a flash back. I was about ten years old and looked like this.
And I saw the cutest pair of sunglasses. Ever.
I begged my Mom to buy them for me.
"They're silly, Mary Lou," my Mom said. "Why would you want those?"
I told her they were the coolest sunglasses I had ever seen and I JUST. HAD. TO. HAVE. THEM.
And I begged and begged and begged and begged and begged and somehow I wore her down.
And I looked like this.
Wearing my miniature television screen sunglasses.
I didn't care if anyone else thought they were stupid.
I loved them!
And I don't care if Kimmy doesn't like my new uber-cute big-ass Teal sunglasses. I love them.
Perhaps she would prefer my other pair.
