I don’t do proper nouns

Not long after the cook left, proper nouns walked out the door.  I’m now into adjectives.  I’ve been forced into descriptive conversations.  “Do you watch …, uh, uh” I ask.

A blank stare.  “Watch what?” asked a friend.

“I can’t remember the name, but the show’s on cable,” I said.  “The attractive lead’s on-again, off-again girlfriend is ex-IRA with a trigger finger.”

Another blank stare.  I kept going.  “You know, she’s the gal who danced a sexy tango with the guy who got an Oscar when he played in another true-to-life story about New York cops on the take.  But in this one, he’s a retired Army general who yelled, ‘HooAH!’ a lot.”

“Oh, you mean Burn Notice.”  See how friends just get you.  “No, I don’t watch it.  What night is it on again?”

“One of those middle of the week nights.”

“Really?”  My friend’s into adverbs. 

A couple of weeks ago, I pointed at the screen and asked, “Who’s that guy?”  

“Did he play in that show about, oh, you know,” my husband fumbled around, ”the town with the gambling strip?” 

“Yeah, Vegas,” I said, ”the show starring the older brother from that big mafia hit.  What was his name?” 

“Sonny from The Godfather?”  Okay, we were getting there.  Slowly. 

“What’s his real name?”  Both of us stared blankly into space.  We knew the actor’s birthday, his scandals, his waist size, but his name escaped us.  Finally we sighed and let it go.  We’d already forgotten about the younger handsome guy I’d pointed to minutes before. 

We hoped for a middle of the night enlightenment where one of us would sit up and exclaim Sonny’s given name out loud.  But to be honest that wasn’t happening too often any more.

The three R’s — Recall, Recognize, Relearn — had recruited their distant cousin Redacted.  “My memory is wiped out,” I admitted to my granddaughter. 

“Well, Grandma,” the Worm inquired, “how do you wipe it back in?”

The other night we had dinner with friends.  My friend and I left the table and went into the kitchen.  The Reporter was doing his job — reporting.  “Last night we found a new restaurant.  The food was great.  You oughta take your wife.”

“What’s the name of the place?”

My husband thought it over, then asked, “What’s the name of that worthless copper coin you get in change.”

“You mean a penny?”

“Yes, that’s it,” my husband said. He turned toward the kitchen and yelled, “Penny, what’s the name of that restaurant we ate at last night?”

“James Caan,” I shouted back.  That’s the guy.  Proper nouns are back — for a visit.

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