Today I found out that several of my blog buddies are going to be signing books on December 8 at various bookstore locations throughout the greater St. Louis metropolitan area. At least that's how we refer to it here in Backroads. That. Or the city.
Today I found out that Sioux is attempting to make me an offer I can't refuse. She has called me out by my anonymous name. What's a gal to do? I did not want to clog up her comments with a lengthy response. Before you go patting me on the back for being so considerate of another's internet space, I must confess that I also refrained from a lengthy comment for another reason. Sioux might have some kind of webtap device that can trace me if I stay on her site too long.
"Oh, Val," you might say. "Enough with the conspiracy theories." Au contraire. One can never entertain too many conspiracy theories. They're like Lay's Potato Chips. No one can have just one. And what with Sioux being a public school teacher, I know that she is well-versed in psychological profiling. It's a perk of the job. You don't even know that you're filing away incidents and behaviors in a cranial database for future reference. If it works on kids, it could work on me.
The distance from my pastoral palace to the teeming metropolis is not the issue. I have been known to make the trip on an old people's gambling bus. But even though I spent a couple of years driving there daily for work, I have developed an aversion to city traffic. Not to fear. Genius volunteered to take me in his little Ford Ranger. I think not. Not that I don't trust his driving. But I would feel safer in my giant Tahoe than in his little red tin can. And here's where we're like a wacky star-crossed watch-fob-and-hair-comb platonic couple. Genius would not feel safe driving my giant Tahoe. If only he could be Jack Sprat Jr., and I could be his momma, Mrs. Sprat. Then he could drive me in the manner in which I feel comfortable.
Hick has stepped up to the plate and agreed to take me. Not home plate. That would imply a semblance of athleticism. Which does not exist, even in Hick's little finger. More like he has stepped up to the dinner plate. He's quite the eater. He knows his way around a dinner plate. And the city. So the transportation issue is solved.
However...even though Sioux guarantees my anonymity, I am skeptical. Am I to believe that she would not know me by my bad teacher's haircut? Oh, wait. We're talking about Sioux. The woman who washes her hair in the faculty bathroom sink. Unsuccessfully, some might add. So the hair issue might go right over her head. Still, she might be able to discern my identity from other aspects of my appearance. Would she not make the connection if a chip-shouldered woman showed up, teeming with road rage, her basement pallor giving way to the rosy red high-blood-pressured cheeks of anger, a ring of gas-station-chicken grease around her lips, drops of wasted Diet Coke on her comfortable oxford big-shirt, a guilty gleam in her eye?
It's too bad that I don't have an alter ego like this lady. A Cathy-on-a-Stick to call my own. Someone who could stand in for me at events such as this. A not-quite-Val to grab a book, get it signed, and high-tail it back to the middle of nowhere.
I am looking into acquiring Val-in-a-Handbasket.
Oh, you're onto me. Since you are obviously going to successfully elude my digital "net," I will have to take pictures and jot down notes, so you can join us (after the fact and vicariously).
ReplyDeletePlease remove the tracking device I've placed on the undercarriage of your Tahoe. It's only effective if you get within 20 miles of the monitor and since you're NOT going to nibble at the bait and venture into my territory, perhaps you can use it to track a colleague or a son...or even that sweet dog, Juno.
And I was going to wear my special holiday Crocs in honor of you! What a waste!
Wow, you must trust me ..... I know your address. How much is that worth, Sioux? I have been known to stir things up. For fun.
ReplyDeleteHey Val! I have plans to go out of town that entire weekend, but if it means the possibility of running into YOU, I might just have to skip the trip! And instead of a Cathy-on-a-Stick, I think you need a Valedictorian Mask! http://www.pbase.com/1heart/image/133723328/small
ReplyDeleteI assumed you were already in a Federal witness protection program. Now you sound like you need to be in one.
ReplyDeleteVal, think of the exposure we will give you...aww not like that! Come see us Dec. 8th
ReplyDeleteKathy--I will make a double batch of fudge for your husband. HE can snag Val's address from you, and thus be the betray-er, instead of you.
ReplyDeleteSioux,
ReplyDeleteYou've gotta get up pretty early in the morning, and go to bed way late at night, and just about deprive yourself of sleep 24/7 in order to fool Val. No way am I going to bend over just to remove a tracking device. You won't trick ME into exercising!
Holiday Crocs, indeed. You will have to wear more than a pair of rubber shoes to get me to look in your direction.
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Kathy,
Um...did you know that in Backroads culture, it is not considered polite to use a stalking victim's blog to solicit money from her stalker in order to reveal her secret location?
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Becky,
Rumors of my coolness have been greatly exaggerated. And I don't suggest running into me, unless you are padded like the victim they use to train an attack dog.
That's a lovely mask. But I already have one, courtesy of Hick and his auction habit. Maybe I'll make the next post about it. Since I have no scathingly brilliant ideas struggling to fight their way out of my fingertips.
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Stephen,
I heartily agree. And people scoff at my conspiracy theories! I KNEW Sioux was up to some shady business.
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Linda,
It's easy for all you exposers to make ME the exposee. I am outnumbered. And you are all wielding pens.
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Sioux,
Perhaps you, too, are not well-versed in the social mores of the simple Backroads folk. Responding to the extortionist via the victim's own blog makes you...as Linnie McCallister told her brother Kevin in Home Alone...what the French call...les incompetents.
Kathy's HeWho would never reveal my address. Not if he values his Bubba mug.