Perseverating

Number one on the ‘to do’ list is still untouched ;
1. Find special needs nanny

I ignore number one and add 177, namely, visit library and pay fines. Soon I will have jaw surgery. This will finalise my transformation into a true American. It took the dentist 7 years to persuade me that this was a ‘must,’ not an optional extra. Three visits ‘home’ convinced me.
It’s a genetic thing. Teeth that don’t join anywhere. This means that you swallow your food whole.
This means that you get a lot of tummy aches.

People think that I am an exceptionally polite person, because I eat everything with a knife and fork. People do not see useless teeth that do not join, because I also have a genetic stiff upper lip.

I determine that whatever it is that I’m going to ‘achieve’ today, it will not involve use of the telephone. It is at that moment, that it rings,
“Hello?”
“Hi Maddy! How’s the nanny search going?” says the Muse. Her cheery tone is not appreciated but as it is 9:05 a.m. she knows that I won’t bark at her.
[translation = not a morning person]
“Er, well, it’s top of the list!”
“You’re procrastinating huh?”
The reason one has a ‘muse’ in one’s life is to ensure that one keeps on the straight and narrow. Everyone needs a muse. Ideally they should be local, not just physically, but someone who you can call upon to translate foreign phenomena. Mine, my muse, fullfils the first requirement, but is worse than useless on the second. [translation = deviant American]

“So another year of not being able to eat sandwiches, French bread and corn on the cob?”
“It’s no great loss, that’s why they invented knives and forks.”
“So you’ve basically done nothing. What about those leads I gave you?”
“They’re on the list too.”
“What number?”
“Er, 178 and 179.”
“Great! When is the surgery again?”
“23rd.”
“This month?”
“Yup.”
“So you basically have less that two weeks to find one.”
“In a nutshell.”

“So this is just an excuse so’s you can cancel it again.”
“Rubbish, of course not! Merely ‘postpone!’”
“At this rate they’ll put you in your coffin still wearing those darned braces!”
“I’ll make sure that they change the elastic bands when they embalm me.”
“Exactly how many times have you canceled the surgery over the last 3 years?”
“I forget.” She’s a kindly soul and doesn’t point out that we both know that I am lying.

I should have had a longer list of criteria for a muse. Now admittedly her psychobabble has been invaluable over the years, but I could do with someone a little more lax. Someone with a little less insight would be handy. Less persistence and attention would be a bonus. She is the sort of person that denies a body ‘wriggle room.’


“Look! I know what you’re afraid of.”
“ME! AFRAID! Have you gone quite mad? [translation = insane not angry] I’ll have you know that I have a very high pain threshold.”

“Depends what kind of ‘pain’ you’re talking about? I know it’s not the surgery itself. ……..you know they’ll be fine, just fine. I don’t like to say it, but you’re not indispensable. The kids’ll be fine, the nanny will do great.”

Damn the woman. She’s fired.