As Opposed to…

This mornings musings over my corny way of expressing approval (Fantabulous) reminds me of another epic episode in my life.

Miss English-Accent  first was a co-worker, then a cherished friend and then my roommate, when her mom agreed to rent me one of the bedrooms left empty after older siblings had gone off to college.

Miss English-Accent and her mom, dubbed Ms. Ladyfingers were about as great of roommates as someone could have asked for.  They were also approved by my mom, who had spent the last 7 years telling me the day I turned 18, no wait, the day I graduated from high school, I was to move out and yet panicked when I got home from senior class trip and started packing up my room.

Her moving out spiel started around the time the TV show, “Eight is Enough” came on and she thought it the height of ridiculousness that 30 year old kids were still living with mommy and daddy.   By the time the day finally came for me to move out, the memory had blurred somewhat and she realized that once I left, she was stuck in a house permeated with testosterone…She started having second thoughts…

Somehow, it was ridiculous for me to stay at home, but completely wonderful that I moved in with my friend and her mom (who maybe wished her daughter had moved out… who knows?)

But back to Miss English-accent.   She was a kook.   She loved to get out the hand-me-down suit jackets from her dad and brothers, accessorize them and then ask me how she looked before we got ready to hit the bars.

(Think 40’s Detective Look -complete with hat – combined with the Cyndi Lauper look – um  – yeah…)

I’d always impatiently gesture, “Why aren’t you ready yet?!?  Come on, LET’s GO!  I’m thirsty” if the ensemble of the evening was just too tricked out to put her forth on her best foot.


Before I get to the line she always belted forth in a bee-a-u-tiful English accent – I’ll tell you how she got even with my staid taste regarding bar hopping costumes –

She’d wait until I had managed to attract some good looking guy to my location.

3 pitchers of beer, only one glass and a lonely look works every time, just in case you’re wondering how I did it.

She’d sneak up stealthily behind me, grab onto my backside give a huge squeeze and yell, “Whoo-Whoo! Fantabulous”.

After I nearly decked her the first time, thinking some guy had been way out of line… I finally learned how to jump, steady my beer, grin sheepishly and not turn red all over.


Miss English Accent was also a non-smoker.  Which means, she was a pyromaniac.  While I sat placidly smoking, she would use my lighter to fire up straw wrappers, straws, napkins,  basically anything she could lay her hands on that wouldn’t end up with arson charges pending.

I once had to go without smoking the entire way home from the little bar we had visited (about 25 miles) because she had used up all my lighter fluid and the fuse for her cigarette lighter in the car had been commandeered to feed juice to the massive stereo system her brothers had installed for her.

Her stereo was almost bigger than her little white Subaru…

Interesting fact:  the seat belt latches in that Subaru had latch-openings that were perfectly shaped to open a non-twist off bottle of beer when you had driven to the pond in the middle of nowhere and discovered the fancy beer she just had to try wasn’t twist-off capped. We got through the evening of fun okay with the latches,  but she bought us each a key-chain with a bottle opener on it after that night, anyways.

Hey! Hey!  This was in the days before drunk driving was such a big thing – the days when the local Constable would pull you over and when you fell out of the car at his feet, would laugh and say, “Okay, get in my car.  I’ll drive you home.”  Do they even make key chains with bottle openers anymore?

Do not mistake me for a ‘pro-drunk driving’ fanatic – worked in law enforcement to long for that – I just want to be clear it was a different era and really, I’m not Satan…

She also came back from her trip to England with a hankering for Snakebites – which she said was hard apple cider mixed with ale.

She tried to replicate it by mixing Apple Schnapps with Coors Light…Yes I gagged down a sip from the glass she so excitedly thrust at me, but fortunately, she gave up after her first swig and declared we weren’t drinking that mess… (Thank Gawd!)


Where was I?  Oh…caution – the real reason I started this post was to tell you about her reply anytime someone used the F word combined with some other adjective to describe how delightfully wonderful or awful something was…

Here’s out it always played out…

Me, or some other nearby potty mouth would shriek, “F***in’ Awesome!” or F***in’ Great” or what have you…

She’d draw herself up, spine straight, head erect.  And in her best, very best, proper British accent, she’d peer down her nose and declare,

“As opposed to a celibate one.”

I miss her.   Wonder who she’s killing with new drink recipes now?


6 thoughts on “As Opposed to…”

    1. Of course you can ask!
      It’s getting worse – the chaotic swirling mass of events continues to unfold and as gotten to such a fever pitch, I withdrew from the world today and wrote to keep myself laughing instead of crying…
      Either something really wonderful is about to happen, or the world is coming to an end…at this point, don’t really care which, as I’m safely tucked away in “Writer’s Land” –


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