My parents will celebrate their anniversary at the end of this month. Their fifty-ninth. Which is quite a thing. But the reason I know it’s their fifty-ninth, is because I’m fifty-eight years old.
It’s really the other way around. I only remember how old I am by how long I know my folks have been married. Otherwise, I forget my age.
I’m not vain about it; I literally forget my age. I have to do the math in my head. A few times I’ve even dragged out a calculator. And something else lets me know how old I am. Just now, I was making a grocery list. I sat at the table. Crackers, I thought. To go with my soup. I wanted those buttery, rectangle-shaped crackers. You know the ones; they’re called…the name was there on the tip of my tongue.
There’s a word you know, but only by sight. Maybe this happened once to you, too. You’ve never actually heard the word spoken. But you know what it means. If you’re writing a sentence, you can use it with ease.
These days you just have to ask the Google machine. You click on that little speaker icon, and the Google machine pronounces “parquet”, or “pas de deux”…I’m not sure what that has to do with this. But I will, I think, before I’m through.
Escort! That’s it, I thought. That’s what those crackers are called. Es…cort…I wrote, in my childish scrawl. Still it didn’t sound right. And the reason it didn’t sound right is, it’s not.
Nabisco hasn’t made Escort crackers in years. What vinyl-and-Naugahyde-Stevie-Nicks laden brain cubbyhole I pulled that one out of, I’m not sure. Any more than I’m sure of how old I may be.
Then I wondered, were Escort crackers really a thing? Why would my brain make that up if they weren’t? And here’s where I think the unspoken-word thing comes in.
You’re there at a party. Or some social function. And you’re talking…blahblah and yakety yak…and that word you know only by sight, the one you’ve never actually heard in real life, comes out of your mouth and comes out all wrong. “Par-ket”, you say, or “paws de dux”. And everyone turns and looks and says, “What?”
So I asked the Google machine about Escort crackers. “Es…cort crack…ers”, I typed in the words. Forgetting the page had “images” highlighted from a previous search. “Cats in pumpkin hats”. Bing-bing! Have you seen those videos? They crack me up. I forget why, but I wanted a still.
So Escort crackers. I’m fifty…eight years old. I’ve been around. I’ve seen a few things. But Holy Mother of Pearl S. Buck. In my wildest dreams, I never thought an innocent search for a buttery, wafer-like snack would bring up such images as to make Jenna Jameson blush. I shudder to think what I might find with “Sociables”.
As I type, I see there’s a red, squiggly line under “Sociables”. But not Jenna Jameson. Microsoft Word’s hunky-dory with her.
Escort…escort…it still didn’t sound right…on March 31st, my folks will celebrate fifty-nine years of more or less wedded bliss…I’ll make a nice dinner…not “Escort”, what is it…
…duck a l’ range, green beans with almonds…roasted potatoes…the whole nine yards…
...what the *#$% are they called…
…probably a soup…vichyssoise, maybe…brioche rolls…still making my list, I glanced at the Food Club ad in despair…
Club…club…Club crackers! That’s it! That’s the thing I was trying to remember.
God bless my parents, staying together for fifty-nine years. Makes me fifty-eight, and that's a long time to walk on this earth. The way I walk it, at least. With my Snoopy-lunchbox-and-Johnny-the-Wad-Holmes laden brain putting “Escort” in where “Club” oughta be.
I pre-date Jenna Jameson, anyway. I’m more of a Seka gal, myself. Escort crackers. My my my. A search for “Sociables” must bring up bukkake.
No red squiggly line under Johnny the Wad. Or Seka, either. Microsoft Word is down with them. Note to self: think of cats in pumpkin hats, at dinner.
I considered making pots de crème for dessert. I’m sure I can pronounce that correctly, at least. But, man. The images that conjures up now. No red squiggly line for bukkake. Bing-bing.
Maybe I’ll just make a pie, instead.