s Monica going to be at the races this weekend," asked Lovely Louella as I loaded up my bike in the Jodymobile.
"Who's Monica?" I asked in all sincerity.
"You know her. Don't be stupid you moron," she said.
"Monica is Monty Floyd's girlfriend." "I didn't know Monty had a girlfriend," I replied.
"She's been his girlfriend for nine years," said Louella.
This conversation, or one eerily similar to it, takes place on a weekly basis. You would think that after all these years Luscious Louella would have a fairly decent understanding that motocross racers don't talk about their personal lives to each other. We talk about how bad the track is, how dirty #87 is, how hot it is, how we were miss-scored in moto one and how we once owned a CZ, but we don't carry on revealing conversations about our deep-rooted fears or anything remotely private.
"What does Fred Phalange do for a living?" asked Louella.
"You've known him for 20 years and you don't know what he does for work?" asked.
I don't have any relationship problems with Lovely Louella—at least none that I'm aware of. Strangely, the fact that I'm not aware of them is a relationship problem for Louella. Over the years I always assumed that she had come to accept that I answered all of her questions with one-word answers, knew that while she was telling me about her day I was looking over her shoulder to watch "American Dad" on the television, and that I didn't actually know what she did for work either.
"When is Crazy Dave's wife going to have the baby," she asked.
"Oh, is that why she ballooned up?" I replied as she walked away.
From what I understand, Louella is the glue that holds our relationship together. She says that I value achievement, work and my own self-interests more than I value her. She, on the other hand, values the depth of our relationship more than anything else and wants me to stop retreating into the man cave and talk more about the important things in life. I accept all that she says as true—and show my agreement by nodding.
"I'm not asking about your knee," she said angrily.
she often imagines the worst.
"You need to go to the doctor now," she said in panic. "I already saw the doctor. It's okay." "When did you see the doctor?" she asked.
"I went to him three weeks ago after the crash. He said it will heal if I give it some rest," I said.