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SOUTHEAST

Lifestyle

love this man. He’s my best friend. I wouldn’t write about him if it hurt his feelings, but

let’s get everyone up to speed.Southeast Lifestyle gets so many new readers every month that from time to time, I need to answer the question, “Why do you call your husband ‘Left Brain?’” The answer could come in a long dissertation. The short version is: “Left Brain” sounds classier than “Clueless.” Upon occasion, however, “clueless” is the best term for him. It certainly was one day last November.

Left Brain and I are currently in what we call the Maintenance Stage of Life. I still travel more than twenty days a month giving speeches. This means in this stage of life, when I’m home, I spend my time seeing doctors. I have so many doctor appointments that at Christmas I feel as though I need to drop by each of their ofi ces with a gift. (Maybe a 7-Up pound cake?) Understand, I’m not sick. It’s just . . . maintenance.

For example, this past year, I spent hours at the dentist’s ofi ce having a couple of implants put in my left teeth. (That’s the teeth on my left side, not the teeth that are “left.”) With my schedule and the stages of the procedure, it took months. But inally, the time came to get the things put in permanently. The last appointment was scheduled late on a Monday morning last Fall, during football season.

Left Brain and I love our alma maters. I went to Auburn and he went to “Dook.” That doesn’t make him a

“Dookie.” He’s a big fan, but if you ever see Left Brain shirtless with blue paint on his face, jumping up and down anywhere, “Call the man!” The mere thought of Left Brain springing up and down in the air makes me burst out laughing. Did I mention he’s 77? But while we love our alma maters, we are both also avid fans and supporters of Elon University.

Elon has football and during football season there is a luncheon the Monday after each game. The coach comes, brings a couple players, they talk about the game we just had and the one coming up. Left Brain loves going to these Elon luncheons. I do too and go if I’m in town. So I was a little disappointed when that last dental procedure for this long ordeal had to be on a Monday after a game. That morning, Left Brain said, “I’ll be glad to go with you, Jeanne, and drive you home.” He was a little bit sincere but I could see his ingers crossed. I assured him I could drive myself home.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Left Brain said, “I think I’ll go to the football luncheon. But I mean it, honey. I won’t go if you need me.” Left brained, clueless and transparent. Gotta love this guy.

Fortunately for me, my “bestest friend” Norma Rose, her husband Alan and Left Brain were at the same table at the luncheon. If Norma Rose hadn’t been there, I may never have known what transpired that day. You can count on your “bestest” friend . . . most of the time.

There were ive men and three women at that table. The three women were all good friends of mine. As indicated, one was my “bestest” friend but I considered the other two good friends also. According to my “bestest,” someone at the table said to Left Brain, “I saw Jeanne at the game Saturday. Tell her I said she’s looking good.” It was just casual table conversation until Left Brain said slowly, “Well, she works at it.”

A hush fell over the table while they continued to eat. The next person to speak was one of the women, who waited a few seconds, leaned across the table and asked, “What does Jeanne do to work at it?” Hearing this later let me know that one of the women might not be as good a friend of mine as I had thought.

It was also a reminder that if my “bestest” friend had moved a little quicker or at all, right then was when she should have turned her plate over in her lap and ended that conversation.

Everyone kept eating but they cut their eyes over at Left Brain, waiting for him to answer the woman’s question, “What does Jeanne do to work at it?” And being left brained...and clueless...he did.

“She walks a lot, trying to keep her weight down,” he told the attentive little group. “People don’t notice it because she’s tall, but she can balloon up. Pass the salad dressing, please.”

No one said a word, but apparently he didn’t need encouragement to continue. That’s the left brain in him. He had to give a complete answer. “Somewhere she read that if she swings her arms while she’s walking, it helps. That’s how she dislocated her shoulder last spring.”

Norma Rose said people nodded and continued to eat without talking. The only sounds were from forks clinking on the plates, sweet tea being poured, etc. They weren’t getting into that conversation, but they were willing to listen. Left Brain kept right on explaining.

“She tried taking yogurt classes but she kept getting pretzeled up and couldn’t get loose on her own. It wasn’t pretty. Pass the rolls, please.” Later I said, “Norma Rose, Left Brain has a doctorate. Tell me he didn’t say ‘yogurt’ classes.”

“That’s what he said, Jeanne. ‘Yogurt’ classes. But don’t worry about it. The women knew what he meant and the men didn’t know the difference.”

With no one else talking, Left Brain must have felt the need to continue. (Who was this man?) “Before she goes to sleep, she puts lotion all over herself from her toes to her ears. One night, she’s going to slide right out of the bed.” They all chuckled, according to Norma Rose. She also said that she thought the topic was closed. But nooooooo.

Seconds later Left Brain added in his delightful, naive way, “And today, while we’re here, she’s getting two implants put in.”

Clueless.

II

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