This limbic system is responsible for extreme emotions. The amygdala in the Genome's brain--my brain--is a species of drama queen. She has a mercurial temperament. Ekaterina, who many of you know as Ms. Wonder and someone who knows the Genome best, describes it metaphorically, but she it's a derogatory reference to the mental ability of bats, which I consider to be pejorative and will give a miss.
This Princess Amy gets steamed up anytime things don't go her way and she can escalate from tepid to incandescent in an instant. Since she is my amygdala, it follows that when she goes ballistic then I'm not far behind. If I pay close attention, I can interrupt her tantrums before they reach the tipping point. When left unchecked, she makes me feel like a toy rat in the jaws of her labrador puppy.
Yesterday Ekaterina, that daughter of the Winter Palace, suggested that I confront Princess Amy about her latest vexation. You will recall, the princess was showcasing an old movie-in-the-mind starring that damned sweater I received at the corporate Christmas party in 2008 when I was expecting, or should I say when I deserved, a big bonus check.
"Tax her heavily," were her words.
"Tax her?" I said, and I thought it weak of the Wonder to use the common speech just because April 15 is coming soon.
"Yes," she said, "look her squarely in the eye and tax her with her crime."
"Ah," I said, suddenly getting the gist of her words, "I'll do it right now."
"I'll come with you," she said.
"Where's my hat?" I said.
"You don't need a hat to tax a fiend about cashmere sweaters," she said. This Ekaterina is well versed in the manners and rules of good society. I was surprised, though, to hear the cashmere motif in her comments and I remember wondering where she could have learned about it. I usually leave that unnecessary detail out of the story for I feel that it unreasonably weakens the justification for my resentment.
I felt that resentment rising now. as I drew myself up and stared haughtily into a passing mirror, which proved to be the very place to direct the gaze when addressing a little group of brain cells in the middle of my head.
"Amy," I said, "your sins have found you out and don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. You have guilt written all over your face."
"If it is a face," said Ekaterina.
"Think before you speak, Amy," I said, "choose your words very, very carefully."
"Why think? Why careful?" asked Ekaterina.
"You have me there," I admitted, "it's something that a policeman once said to me and it affected me deeply. I thought it might have that same effect on Amy."
"Tax her about that sweater," Ekaterina said.
"Amy!" I said, "you almond-headed, gargoyle from hell, what about that sweater?"
"Don't overdo it," advised Ekaterina.
"I've always known you were mad as a coot," I said getting into the rhythm of the thing and feeling that it was going very well.
"Coot?" said Ekaterina.
"Sort of duck," I said not wanting to take the time to fully explain for fear of losing momentum.
"Up until now I've tried to be respectful of your feelings," I said taking the high moral ground, which I strongly recommend as it makes all the difference in these confrontations.
"I have, up till now, skipped over the more embarrassing stories of our shared past. But if you insist on bringing up uncomfortable memories for the purpose of driving me manic when I'm trying to finish my book, then I will divulge all the sordid details to the world."
This seemed to be a good place to illustrate the text with a visual and so I added, "You will remember getting thrown out of Cafe' Dulce for trying to raise the price of a gelato by auctioning your boots? That and more will be exposed for the readers of my book, Out of the Blue. "
A sharp cry erupted from somewhere nearby and for a moment I thought it was Amy but quickly realized the sound escaped from Ekaterina's lips. She seemed on the verge of apoplexy as though she'd been stung on the leg by a hornet. I stared fixedly at her waiting to see if she had something to say. She did.
"Come on, let's get out of this bathroom before it's struck by lightning."
She was right, of course. She often is. Not that thunderbolts suddenly appeared but Amy had collapsed in a heap and it was clear to me that my work was done. I followed Ekaterina down to breakfast on the screened porch, as far away from that mirror as it's possible to be in Chatsford Hall.
Life comes hard and fast but not today, Amy! No not today!