Denise McDonald Dorman

My First Coffee Spit Take for Today

In Uncategorized on May 9, 2009 at 5:48 pm

Do you have that one stand-out friend in your life? The one you phone first thing most mornings to get your day started on a positive note? I do. Mine is Christina Bouvier, who has had a starring role in my life’s cast of kooky characters since the 7th grade. When you’ve known someone for 33 years, you can pretty much say anything to each other. We speak in shorthand. No need for formalities. No self-editing. Just plain old profanity-laden chatter that would send any man of the cloth running for his holy water. When my husband first got to know me, he said, “I never believed that women really talked like ‘Sex and the City,’ until I met you and your friends.” Mind you, our conversations don’t revolve so much around our own sex lives as they do our observations about other people’s sex lives, but no topic is off limits.

When I call, Christina shouts, “Go!” — her signal for me to start speaking staccato style, in an abbreviated download because we’re both always in one helluva hurry.

Christina Bouvier is a woman of few words, but hers pack a wallop. She ever-so-casually drops these bon mots that have me spraying my last gulp of coffee onto my computer screen. Now my laptop runs on Dunkin’, too. Take this morning’s phone conversation:

Her: “What the fuck is up with Stephen Colbert’s ear?”
Me: “Um, I think I read it was frost bite or something.”
Her: “Well, I wish he would stop tilting his head that way and hiding his God damned ear. Just show me the fucking ear already. I cannot even hear what he’s saying because I’m so focused on trying to see his God-damned ear.”

Christina Bouvier’s running commentary on public figures makes Kathy Griffin’s comedy seem like sunshine, rainbows and peppermint kisses. One night I was over there as the news was blaring in the background. It was toward the end of Pope John Paul II’s life, and the news footage showed him sitting on his throne during a church service, seemingly catatonic. Christina Bouvier, a former Catholic, briefly glanced over and said, “He’s just like that dead guy in ‘Weekend at Bernie’s.'” As I said, few words, but they pack a wallop.

One day, under total anonymity, I hope to get Christina Bouvier on a regular morning podcast so the rest of the world can enjoy that first coffee spit take of the day and hear what real women really say about real people. You know, like the not-so-PC conversations Gayle King and Oprah really have when that satellite radio audience isn’t listening.

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