(Mary: groan…what can I say to turn the conversation back to me and my pearls of wisdom…)
Toby: It’s about when I met Ian and why I fell in love with him.
(Mary: perks up, leans forward, and starts paying attention. This might be good! And with juicy details!)
Mary: Yes, dear, do spill the tea. I’ve always wondered how you met.
Toby: Don’t you wonder why I fell in love with him?
Mary: Oh, nooooo! Of course not (rolls her eyes invisibly), but I’d love to hear your version.
Toby: ‘It was a dark and stormy night in Greenwich Village. I had just folded up my easel after a long day of doing mini portraits of (rude, sweaty, classless cheapskate) tourists and their (ugly little yapping) dogs. I was making my way back to my studio (studio apartment) where I generated my true artistic emotions (mini portraits of people who ultimately refused to pay).
A huge shadow emerged from the, er, shadows, and said, ‘Excuse me, Miss, where am I?’ Suspecting trouble, I haughtily replied, ‘You’re in New York City, sir!’ “No, you blithering blonde! I’m looking for the Washington Square subway stop! Can’t you listen?”
Well, after that, what could I do? He was so charming, and had an amazing Glaswegian accent, and it was pouring rain, so I took him to my studio to dry off. After stopping at two wine and liquor warehouses, we climbed the stairs to my 6th floor walk up, and drank a glass or three of wine, then a few slugs of Auld Toff, then…’
Mary: Yes, and then?
Toby: We went to City Hall the next morning and were married. Except Ian had forgotten about his wife, Invidia, so we weren’t really married. And we’ve been together ever since.
Mary: But what about Ian’s wife?
Toby: Oh they eventually got divorced. But it was very messy and very unpleasant for us. Invidia was a terrible sport about the whole thing, very accusatory and angry. And oh, so much crying.
Mary: Well, of course Invidia cried; she was losing her husband to a younger woman.
Toby: No, Ian was the one crying. And Invidia was younger than me, but she didn’t have what it takes to be a faculty spouse.
Mary: (Can’t hold back any longer). Then why doesn’t Ian have tenure?
Toby: Don’t tell Ian I said this, but haven’t you noticed he’s a terrible drunk? And his scholarly writings are on the level of a high school junior. He’s nothing but a Faux Professor. School Management will never promote him. And I can’t leave him because he’ll torture me with his bagpipe solos, and besides, he has a HUGE…life insurance policy.
Mary: (Smiling with gleeful satisfaction). Oh, Toby, thank you for sharing…Now, isn’t it almost vodka o’clock?
Chinbeard: “Is it true? I know how you routinely get yourself into silly little scrapes, my hapless little blonde airhead.”
Toby: “??!!”
@meg, we owe you immensely for giving us the Cameron back story. What a way to start our Worthiverse day! I hope our own treasured @fauxprof tunes in today to discover the special Easter egg. Huzzah, huzzah!
I’m in awe of our meg and her boundless creativity! As for my origin story, I was a retired librarian with a wonderful gig as a part-time instructor. The students insisted on calling everyone “Professor”, whether the title was accurate or not. My late husband was a legit Professor—PhD and all—so I started referring to him as realprof and myself as fauxprof. Meanwhile, I have to agree that Ian is totally bogus, and I’m about to go down a Google rabbit hole on the wonderful name “Invidia”. Off the the top of my head, I’m thinking envy and evil eye!
6 comments:
Toby: Let me tell you a story, Mary.
(Mary: groan…what can I say to turn the conversation back to me and my pearls of wisdom…)
Toby: It’s about when I met Ian and why I fell in love with him.
(Mary: perks up, leans forward, and starts paying attention. This might be good! And with juicy details!)
Mary: Yes, dear, do spill the tea. I’ve always wondered how you met.
Toby: Don’t you wonder why I fell in love with him?
Mary: Oh, nooooo! Of course not (rolls her eyes invisibly), but I’d love to hear your version.
Toby: ‘It was a dark and stormy night in Greenwich Village. I had just folded up my easel after a long day of doing mini portraits of (rude, sweaty, classless cheapskate) tourists and their (ugly little yapping) dogs. I was making my way back to my studio (studio apartment) where I generated my true artistic emotions (mini portraits of people who ultimately refused to pay).
A huge shadow emerged from the, er, shadows, and said, ‘Excuse me, Miss, where am I?’ Suspecting trouble, I haughtily replied, ‘You’re in New York City, sir!’
“No, you blithering blonde! I’m looking for the Washington Square subway stop! Can’t you listen?”
Well, after that, what could I do? He was so charming, and had an amazing Glaswegian accent, and it was pouring rain, so I took him to my studio to dry off. After stopping at two wine and liquor warehouses, we climbed the stairs to my 6th floor walk up, and drank a glass or three of wine, then a few slugs of Auld Toff, then…’
Mary: Yes, and then?
Toby: We went to City Hall the next morning and were married. Except Ian had forgotten about his wife, Invidia, so we weren’t really married. And we’ve been together ever since.
Mary: But what about Ian’s wife?
Toby: Oh they eventually got divorced. But it was very messy and very unpleasant for us. Invidia was a terrible sport about the whole thing, very accusatory and angry. And oh, so much crying.
Mary: Well, of course Invidia cried; she was losing her husband to a younger woman.
Toby: No, Ian was the one crying. And Invidia was younger than me, but she didn’t have what it takes to be a faculty spouse.
Mary: (Can’t hold back any longer). Then why doesn’t Ian have tenure?
Toby: Don’t tell Ian I said this, but haven’t you noticed he’s a terrible drunk? And his scholarly writings are on the level of a high school junior. He’s nothing but a Faux Professor. School Management will never promote him. And I can’t leave him because he’ll torture me with his bagpipe solos, and besides, he has a HUGE…life insurance policy.
Mary: (Smiling with gleeful satisfaction). Oh, Toby, thank you for sharing…Now, isn’t it almost vodka o’clock?
Toby: Straight up, and make it a double, please.
Chinbeard: “Is it true? I know how you routinely get yourself into silly little scrapes, my hapless little blonde airhead.”
Toby: “??!!”
@meg, we owe you immensely for giving us the Cameron back story. What a way to start our Worthiverse day! I hope our own treasured @fauxprof tunes in today to discover the special Easter egg. Huzzah, huzzah!
I’m in awe of our meg and her boundless creativity! As for my origin story, I was a retired librarian with a wonderful gig as a part-time instructor. The students insisted on calling everyone “Professor”, whether the title was accurate or not. My late husband was a legit Professor—PhD and all—so I started referring to him as realprof and myself as fauxprof. Meanwhile, I have to agree that Ian is totally bogus, and I’m about to go down a Google rabbit hole on the wonderful name “Invidia”. Off the the top of my head, I’m thinking envy and evil eye!
"Is it true?" Gee, Ian, maybe if you really tried, you could think of something even less supportive to say.
Actually, that's pretty funny. I'm surprised KM had it in her to come up with that. Must have been unintentional.
Well, I hope Toby's response is to jump up from the table, run down to Mary's apartment and bop her in the nose for her wonderful advice.
HelenClark
always ask a difficult question over chicken posdore
"Is it true?"
"Wellllll, kinda sorta not really maybe I don't think so but I see how someone might possibly think that but they'd be wrong so pretty much no."
"I see."
"You do???
-- Scottie McW.
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