Tuesday, December 14, 2004

Vocabulary Lessons

Pro rata: adverb. Proportionately according to an extremely calculable factor. Etymology: Latin.

Alternate definition: the last clue I filled on on yesterday's crossword, as Hot Dad was getting on the train. I, of course, had to pretend that I hadn't been giving myself whiplash for the twenty minutes prior by checking to see whether or each and every person getting on the train was him. I also had to pretend that I wasn't going to strangle the man who had just taken the seat next to me, a man who looked like the main character in a sci-fi horror flick (circa 1953) about nuclear radiation from some commie Soviet bomb contaminating the water supply and mutating all the fish into big fish-men who secure white collar jobs in finance and take the MetroNorth to work.

But anway, I was sitting in the outside seat because I made FishFace sit by the window. I had my legs crossed and one foot sticking out in the aisle, as usual, because it's the only remotely comfortable way to sit and also because I can more easily get footprints on the trenchcoats of men I don't particularly like. Hot Dad got on the train and (get ready) squeezed my foot to say hi. Touchdown! Boo-yah! It was my most exciting retroactive eighth grade moment yet, finally paid back at the ripe old age of twenty-two.

I thought it would be more difficult to hide a puddle of urine on public transportation, but it's suprisingly easy. I managed to be suave enough (in my own head, at least. I actually may have come across looking like the OTHER Other Sister) through our usual crossword conversation, during which he used my puzzle as an answer key and gave it back to me promising that one day he'll beat me. I said no problem, you tell me the time and the place, and then I purred like a cat.

Actually, what happened was he started reading Middlesex, which spawned another book conversation because that's probably the second-best book I've ever read. He told me there's a book he thinks I should read, but he couldn't remember the name of it, so he's going to look it up for me. Yes. He's doing research on books he thinks I will like, because why? All together now: Because. I. Win.

Okay, but the best part, the real best part happened because of a jackass in the seat behind me broadcasting every minute detail relating to (and sometimes having nothing to do with) his lame job. Hot Dad kept turning around to look at the guy, and at one point he caught my eye while doing so. I whispered, "I'm gonna murder that guy." At which he laughed, and responded (IN MY EAR, where he was WHISPERING, because that's where people whisper. In my EAR.) "Yeah, you think this is bad...I talked to that guy once, and heard the same stories verbatim."

There's nothing better than a guy who hates the same people you do. Especially when said guy is technically one of them, but for some reason is choosing to speak to you every day, though you are clearly not one of them, as evidenced by the fact that Jackass would never, ever speak to you about his job, even though you don't want him to in the first place.

Anyway, we got off the train at the station, where his WIFE AND BABY WERE WAITING FOR HIM AT THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIRS.

The presence of Hot Dad's wife and adorable child grew more ubiquitous pro rata Kathy's enjoyment of their train rides.

If we ever actually do have a conversation in which we introduce ourselves and I finally find out just what it is he does for a living, Wife will be waiting on the platform with a freshly-baked batch of homemade oatmeal raisin cookies. If we were to, say, make out like crazy, there is no doubt in my mind Wife would be waiting in the parking lot in her wedding dress, priest in tow, daughter dressed as a flower girl, ready to renew their vows.

I gotta learn to stop feeling guilty for having a crush on someone. I don't really intend to ruin his family with a torrid affair; I just like to think about it sometimes. I'm tellin' ya, when you gets up before the sun, and you goes to sleep right after Wheel of Fortune, your romantical side gets a little rowdy. I'm just pleased I have someone to talk to on the train. FishFace is nice and all, but all I end up with is a nagging craving for flounder.

I would like to end with a public service announcement regarding Ms. Kelly Clarkson: yes, her new song is not good. This is a given. But, she hits one helluva high note right at the end of the bridge. You should all be so lucky as to hear my in-the-car-alone approximation. I could shatter glass.


Blogger Buckley said...

Just happened upon your blog today and I like it lots.

Pardon me, that's pretty much all i have to say.

Have a good life,


9:21 AM  

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