For a time I lunched once or twice a week with two other coltish scapegraces. One was a professional poet fellowshipping in the public schools under an arts grant. The other was the executive director of the local arts council that funded the poet. We would hack out witticisms and read them to each other over table talk.
One of my eruptions, which I titled “A Fable,” was a mini-paean to a local restaurant named Casa Ramico’s (anglicized with the possessive affix). The arts counselor said, “If you wanted us to eat Mexican food, why didn’t you just say so?” He had a point. After reflection I said, “Because I have passive-aggressive neurosis. I never ask for what I want. I resort to circumlocutory misdirection and elaborate self-effacement to express my needs. That’s how I roll.”
(I added that jaunty last part. It lends vernacular impudence to the retort.)
(c) 2018 JMN.