me: Oh no! What kind?!?!
n: They are firing one person from each showroom, except for ours.
me: Oh goodness. Will there be pay cuts?
n: No pay cuts, but pay freeze in effect for the whole year.
me: Well, good thing you're not staying for the rest of the year!
n: I know! Last night I was thinking about the recession and how trippy it would be if it got as bad as it did in the Great Depression and we had to caravan around the U.S. and live in Hoovervilles like in the Grapes of Wrath ... ha!
me: Oh jesus! Will you share a tent with me? And it'd be called Obamavilles …
n: Definitely, I feel pretty confident that if we all shared an Obamaville we could survive just fine.
me: I agree. We would sing hymns all day. But instead of god, they would be about Obama.
n: Yes, and we would all be pregnant because that's what happens during the Depression, and your parents shall be called Maw and Paw, and I'll change my name to Nell O'Sharn.
me: Whose baby would I be pregnant with? Someone tragic, like G, because he looks kind of Depression Era.
n: Haha, fo sho ... this is my time to shine. I could star in Depression Era "talkies" at the local movie house. I think Depression-Era-chic is right about to hit it big.
me: Stop, you're making my boob muscle hurt.
n: I feel like L is a good Depression Era dog to have around the Hooverville. She looks downtrodden a lot.
me: She is one of those dogs that listens to no man. The Depression has her down. She answers only to herself in Hooverville. She's a carpetbagger, through and through.
n: Oh definitely, A is too refined for a Hooverville. I might have to sell him to some rich folks.
me: No! He will perform a show for coins, like a fancy monkey.
n: Perfect!
me: Well, maybe peanuts, not coins.
n: We can take our act on the road. He can ride on J's horses in a lil’ cowboy outfit.
me: Lil' … can't breathe. J's horses will be very skinny. We'll have to distract people with an act by A and steal their carrots when they’re not looking so the horses can sustain.
n: Yeah, we may need to learn to farm.
me: We can TOTALLY learn to farm. I think we'd be really good at it actually.
n: In Grapes of Wrath all they talked about was "pickin’ peaches,” which I feel like I can do ... I'll need me a shotgun to protect my stuff with.
me: We won't have any stuff! What will you be protecting? Your Macbook? I want to pick coffee beans.
n: We'll have a truck stacked 40 feet high with our mattresses and clothes and pots and pans and drinking water!
me: And you know one day it is going to tip over when I get distracted and the wheel gets caught in a rut. Then everyone will be mad at me. And that night I'll have to sleep in a different Hooverville.
n: Yeah and then you'll be fresh meat for the Hooverville's men, and you'll have to lay with them, and then you'll get pregnant again.
me: And it will totally be handicapped or blind or autistic, just to make the hardship even harder. If it was handicapped, we could train L to be ridden. And when the kid was old enough, he'd write a letter to Obama. And we'd be brought before a joint session of congress to be honored.
n: Hahaha, that's not tragic enough for our real-life Grapes of Wrath ... the child will die and you'll have to bury him on the side of the highway because we just have to keep moving. Then you'll go crazy.
me: I'll make a tombstone out of ravioli cans.
n: And we'll have to tie you to the truck.
me: With the reins from J's horses.
n: Hahaha. Oh man, it all sounds so fun.
me: And I'll totally be wearing a prairie bonnet. And your hair will be humid frizzy all the time. That's the saddest part of all this. :(
n: Oh my god, it will be. I'll have to cut it off so that they'll let me do a man's work and hide my face under a cap.
me: HAAAAAAAAAAA! It'll look like Howie Mandel's hair before he got OCD and shaved his head to get rid of germ-hiding places.
n: Hahaha, is that why he did that?? What a weirdo. I wish I still had my copy of that book! I have the urge to read it again. I loved it and the movie … it was all so dramatic.
me: The depression is in your blood.
n: ‘Tis.
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