Beautiful Lady Friend (BLF): “No, we cannot have an escape box.”
Me: “Listen, It’s not that extreme…safety first, you always say. Just some cash, passports, and disguises. You know—the glasses with the fuzzy eyebrows and the noses attached? I think those will do.”
BLF: “I just don’t think humoring you is the right move in this situation.”
As I am wont to do, I have become a bit obsessed with an idea. You might call it preparation…or paranoia. After a recent trip to Ikea, my BLF and I were discussing the declining state of American politics, culture, whatever, when she jokingly (I presume) suggested that if things got any worse, we should have a contingency plan. Maybe we could move to Sweden—they are gay friendly and they make stylish, assemble-at-home furniture. Shockingly, I have decided this is the best idea ever, and I am now engaged in constantly assailing my BLF with a stream of suggestions for our possible escape.
Me: “Okay, so maybe not the glasses, but I do think it’s prudent to have cash and passports available in case we need to make a quick getaway. We should have some of our assets liquid.”
BLF: “I am not keeping a wad of cash under the mattress…or buried in the backyard, for that matter.”
Now, I am not saying that the U.S. will become a police state and that all manner of minorities will be terrorized from coast to coast. But I did see V for Vendetta, and it scared the hell out of me. No matter what you call it—the tipping point, a slippery slope, the domino effect, or a crossroads—I am convinced we are at a critical point in our cultural evolution and something is going to change. For better or for worse…both, I guess, depending on your perspective. This is the simple point I was trying to convey.
Me: “Seriously, you need to be prepared to sign over the deed to the house to your parents so they can sell it and send us the money when we are on the lam.”
BLF (simultaneously shaking her head, rolling her eyes, and sighing—it’s a wonder she didn’t pull something): “I have to go to work.”
I digress. This isn’t about my opinions on the future of politics and cultural change; this is about having an exit strategy.
I have started researching gay friendly countries that could serve as potential havens should the shit hit the fan in the good old U.S. of A. So Sweden, for the record, although relatively nice to us homos, has a wacky distribution of daylight. Did you know that in Stockholm (the capital) they only have six hours of daylight in December and a whopping 18 in June? I have a hard enough time slogging through December in Upstate New York (about nine hours of daylight at its shortest point), so this fact has disqualified Sweden. For your information—and in the interest of not completely bashing our Swedish friends—relative to its latitude, Sweden has a fairly temperate climate.
Later that day, in my BLF’s office, while she attempts to get some work done…
Me: “What do you think about Belgium or The Netherlands?”
BLF: “Uh-huh.”
Me: “I really think we should reconsider Canada. Toronto is fairly close, very gay friendly, and just generally seems pretty cool.”
BLF: “Yup.”
Me: “The Netherlands would be neat though…those relaxed attitudes toward drugs…I could think of worse places. Oh, and Belgium—think of the chocolate! What do you think?”
BLF: “Right.”
By this point it has become clear to me that BLF is not paying any attention to me at all. Being the kind of girl I am, this only encourages me.
Me: “Blah, blah, blah…blah, blah-d-d-blah blah. Blah?”
BLF: sigh
Me: “Yack, yack-yack, yackity-yack…don’t talk back.”
BLF: eye roll
Me (asking a question I already know the answer to): “BLF!?! Are you even listening to me?”
BLF: head shake
Clearly not. But don’t worry, I am not one to be discouraged. I have collected dossiers of census, climate, language, immigration, and cultural information on a five countries that I have identified as possible candidates to which to defect. I have written an extensive plan for liquidating a certain percentage of our assets each month, dug a hole in the backyard, and drawn a treasure map for finding the “loot hole.” And yes, I refer to it as a loot hole. It is not as funny as when I called the cooking pit at our friends’ annual bonfire a “meat hole,” but it will do. I have also set about creating false bottoms in drawers and making space in the freezer for some of our cash.
I have also started researching security systems because I am afraid of being robbed with all of this cash around. I also brought home a Doberman the other day—much to BLF and the cat’s chagrin. He has a lovely spiked collar and thinks it’s great to growl and bare his teeth. I keep him chained to the front porch. Did I mention the “Beware of Dog” signs I put up as well?
BLF has talked to me about some of these expenses and is particularly concerned with my revised recycled aluminum foil budget. Apparently 10 roils of foil a week seems excessive. She also seems worried that I have been playing our vinyl backwards and transcribing what I hear. I explained that it was important to stay informed, but she just shook her head and went into the other room.
Okay, so remember when BLF said, “I just don’t think humoring you is the right move in this situation.”? She was right, and she did NOT humor me. So pretty much everything after that point is a lie…well, an imagining of an alternate ending had my BLF encouraged my kooky whims rather than rolling her eyes and laughing. So, I guess if you think about it, this is all about her—thanks babe, for keeping me from getting carried away.
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