You know that person who lives in your head and remembers every thing you’ve ever said in your whole life that was embarrassing or stupid and every thing that anyone ever said to you that in any way implied that you weren’t the absolute best girl scout who ever wore that ugly brown sash or that your term paper could have been a little better researched or that the turkey was dry or that you let that project fall through, or maybe they didn’t even say anything, maybe they just had that look on their face that you thought meant they were irritated with you but was probably just gas?

Don’t you want to just slap that squawking miss know-it-all and say, shut the fuck up?   If you could just get your hands around her scrawny little neck you could squeeze the life right out of it and never have to listen to her again!

So you’ve probably figured out by now that I’m talking about the person in my head not yours – not that you don’t have one too but I’m a little too riled up about this to be talking about you.

If I were talking about your person I’d be saying, don’t pay any attention to her; she doesn’t know what she’s talking about so just ignore her.  And that would be good advice indeed.

I used to call my person Margaret but my daughter went and named my granddaughter Margaret (Maggie ) so now I have to get a new name for this wretched woman.  Maybe Gertrude or Hildegard or Constance. Maybe I’ll  borrow a name from P.G. Wodhouse who has so many great names in his wonderful stories; perhaps Gussie Fink-Nottle, or Millicent Threepwood.

My person, “The One Who Must Be Heard,” has this pursed lip look and a way of looking down her nose that seems a little British, not real British, more like an affectation of British.  She’s just got that look that lets me know immediately that I’ve fallen short of the goal or perhaps worn white after labor day.

She always wears a suit, stockings, and lace-up shoes.  She’s quick to remind me that no one helped her get where she is.  She rolled her sleeves up and did what had to be done.  It was difficult but she did it and if I were worth my weight in salt I would do it too.  But of course I’m not worth my weight in salt as I’ve demonstrated on many occasions.

So here’s my problem dear readers. This insufferable woman has taken up residence in my head and will not be moved.  She talks away night and day.  Now if she had something nice to say like, Bravo or Good Job, or You’re absolutely brilliant, I wouldn’t mind having her around but that would be coddling and she’s not one to coddle.

At this very moment she’s leaning back in her chair with her arms folded saying, What the hell do you think you’re doing?  You’re not a writer!  Who do you think you are, Alice Walker or somebody?  Honey you ain’t no Alice Walker – not even close.

So here’s what I think I’m gonna do.  I’m going to name her Gussie because, well, what comes to mind when you think of someone named Gussie?  Maybe a rocking chair, some needlepoint, lace hankie, tea pot & scones? Gussie is the type of person who prattles – I mean no one really listens to her – you just pat her on the hand and say, yes dear.

Gussie it is.  Bless her heart; she means well and everyone loves her but well, you know how she is.  Just pour her another cup of tea and tuck in her blankie; she’ll be fine.