Janie was with me. We stood in the kitchen. Ed introduced her: "This is Dede," pronounced Deedee.
"Dede," I said. "How do you spell that?" I was always interested in name spellings. Jonathan dated a Mashell once. The best.
"D-E-D-E." Wrong spelling.
"That's not Deedee. That's Duhduh."
Janie cackled. "Yeah, that IS Duhduh."
"So where are you from, Duhduh?" Janie and I cackled together. We are each six inches taller than Dede and thirty years older, so this was a really a FAIR and EQUAL conversation. There was absolutely no misuse of power here.
I don't think I saw Dede again until Ed brought her around at age 22. I hope I didn't bring up the Duhduh then, but knowing how I break out into inappropriate behavior occasionally, I can't be sure.
Anyway, Dede had a birthday last weekend. She is fortyish. "Ish" covers five years. I am seventyish and will be for another four years and then I will be seventy-fivish" until I'm eighty. Get it?
For her birthday, she gets to have surgery on her back. See how life starts stinking at certain ages? This, I doubt, will slow down the energetic Dede. Still, back surgery is not a massage with lavender-smelling oils, is it?
It makes me sorry about the Duhduh thing. Almost.
Happy Birthday, dear Dede.