I have this little Saturday morning ritual: I read the Boston Globe and then, as a little dessert over breakfast, I dive into the Grafton News.
My kids have grown used to my groans over the doglegs on the front page. Sometimes we play “who is in the picture?” on the school page — we once completely missed my daughter in a tiny two column photo of her class on a field trip. I sift for news in J. Walker’s column, count the unedited press releases, check out the police chief’s column and then steel myself for the true meat of the Grafton News experience.
Oh Kay Whynot. Why can’t I quit you?
Maybe it’s the lack of paragraph breaks or, say, the stylistic choice of never sticking to a single common theme. Sometimes there’s a delightful nugget of Grafton interest mixed in with ruminations about Cape Cod or Florida.
But what brings me to Kay Whynot — and here I give a girlish sigh — is the abuse. Is he going to bitchslap the owners of his hated “mini-castles?” Will there be a smug mention of a latte-sipping soccer mom on her cell phone while driving an SUV? Is his tweak of the week maybe, secretly, a message just for me?
Kay Whynot. You little flirt. Go ahead, treat me like a naughty girl, you bad-ass columnist.
Oh Kay Whynot. I long to dress like a woman for you. I’ll pick you up in my minivan and we’ll share a venti mocha frappuccino topped with two bendy straws — go ahead, just put the cup anywhere, the Honda Odyssey comes with plenty of cupholders for my pampered darlings, those ankle-biters who secretly plot to suck the money from your wallet by demanding up-to-date educational materials and a little elbow room in the hallways. We’ll drive to my McMansion and I’ll cook you dinner while leaning coquettishly on my granite countertops.
Darling Kay Whynot! You’ll pound out copy on a manual typewriter while I wait, breathless for your prose. I have my editing red pen uncapped, just waiting for that first break with accepted AP style. I carry those red pens everywhere, by the way. In my glove compartment, stashed in a bottom drawer. You never know when you’re going to need to correct a typo.
Oh Kay Whynot. Tell me more about the good old days before refuse like me moved to town. We’ll walk, hand-in-hand, through Grafton Common and pose like tourists for pictures in the gazebo. People will whisper and call us an odd couple. We know it’s our differences that make it love.
LOVE I say — wait, where are you going? You don’t think you can out run me, do you? What did I say? What did I do? We can make it work, can’t we? Who says a liberal chick and a Republican curmudgeon can’t make beautiful music together?
OK. Why not?