SURVIVOR AND WHY JEFF WON'T SEE ME IN MY UNDERWEAR
It’s Friday night and I am fully reclined on my Lazy Boy eating Miss Vickie’s Chips. I buy 3 different flavours and I mix them all into one bowl. I’ve substituted that for foreplay and so far it’s doing the trick. I’m watching Survivor (on demand) and the players are starving, sweating, dreaming of toilet paper, a burger, and fries.
They are at one of those obstacle courses and Jeff is shouting the instructions. They don’t understand a single word, neither do I and I have shelter, air conditioning and a mouth full of chips.
Now my Uber Eats has just arrived, I’m digging into my Cote St. Luc BBQ Chicken with those amazing fries (chips and fries = two sources of vitamin C in one night), there’s some gravy dipping going on and it’s the part of the show when those headless people demonstrate the obstacle course. Who are those people? How can I get that job?
Also, why is everyone always wet and how do they suddenly have blazers and fedoras and hip clothing? Is there a retro shop on the island? Is it fair that Jeff smells like lavender fabric softener and does not have to strip down to his underwear? And let’s talk about underwear. Why on earth are people taking off their pants? What’s wrong with a good pair of shorts?
My focus changes to “These chips are making me thirsty.”
As I make the heroic effort to get up from the Lazy Boy, I drop the Cote St. Luc BBQ gravy on my lap. Now this is a problem. I have not finished eating the fries (thus not fulfilling my vitamin C for the day) so I can either go to the sink and do a spot clean or I can just leave it there. I vote for just leave it there (and so did you).
It’s time for someone to go home (and for me to clean my sweatpants). It’s tribal council and everyone is confused, dizzy, dehydrated, starving, wet, cold, dirty and they are being asked to talk strategy, make a big decision.
At this point, I’m exhausted and frankly, I want to be voted off so I can make my way, hand in hand with Jeff to the resort, a boat ride away, where we get into a hot tub, talk about his dimples and where he has hidden the 1 million dollars (clearly in the sand, not a bank).
I want a room with a mini bar that contains $50 pistachio nuts. I want to sleep in a bed with a plush duvet and 20 pillows. I want to meet those headless people, apply for the job, and get refused because I’m tired, fed up and when I bend down, I say “Oye” (which means “Oye” in Yiddish).
I want a Pina Colada with an umbrella, the kind the bartender at Brickman’s Resort in the Catskills used to place in my father’s Strawberry Daquiri that my mother said he did not need, and he rebuked with “There are no calories in a Strawberry Daquiri”, a comment he also made about cheesecake.
I want a Cronut (donut + croissant = delicious @ Atwater Market) and I want to know if Jeff has a brother.
I want to know that once the tribe has spoken and it’s time for me to go, that I have searched for every clue, tackled every obstacle, lit a torch, watched a sunset, failed, triumphed, discovered all that life has to offer and that I have loved and been loved because that my friends, is the very essence of survival.
Jeff – call me.