Meeting of the Minds --DeWese
I am writing this column on April 6, 2005. It's about 5:30 a.m. and I have got to finish this thing because Attila the Editor and his nefarious henchman, Chris Bauer, the managing editor, are insisting that they need it today so they can lay out the May edition of the magazine. Reread that last sentence with a whiny insistence in your voice and you will hear what I heard when they called to check on my progress.
It's been 61 days since I quit smoking cold turkey and this kind of pressure isn't making it any easier.
Now I can't drink—too many empty calories in booze. No more hot fudge sundaes with whipped cream on top 'cause there's too much sugar and fat.
No more bread, you know, there's too many carbs.
What is left to alleviate my anxieties? I haven't been able to get a girlfriend. It seems that I am now old, fat and ugly, when I just used to be fat and ugly.
Furthermore, you would think that my wife of 15,488 days, Attila the Nun, would back off and cut me a little slack.
Somehow, she holds me personally responsible for everything that goes wrong, including her perception of the things that are wrong with the Bush administration and that the dishwasher isn't getting the tableware clean enough. Gosh, I hand wash all the pots, pans, dishes and silver before I load them in the brand new Maytag. I'm never invited to any White House policy sessions. I'm not going through another FBI investigation again.
When I just happened to make a few e-mail suggestions a couple of years ago to then-President Bill and Senator Hillary Rodham-Clinton, the FBI camped out in my front yard for three days. They finally pronounced me a "solid citizen" after I won them over with my renowned breakfasts and all the fried chicken they could eat washed down with sweet tea or Rolling Rock.