Test. Test. It's probably gonna be a bit static-y. We're recording here in my car, driving to Costco. I'm driving--

Barb: You shouldn't be. You're-
Me: Barb. I'm well aware of the fact that I'm driving and talking. We've been over this. People do it all the time. If there wasn't a recorder here, you wouldn't think twice about talking with me. It's the recorder that's freaking you out.
Barb: I'm just saying...

Me: You're just saying? You've just said you'd let me do this.
Barb: Fine.

Ok. Now that that little tantrum's over...I'll get back to the intro. OK. We're en route to Costco. For dinner we're making "Sloppy Buffalo Joe's" - from a sassy sloppy joe recipe I saw on Rachel Ray the other day - and so we're going to get all the have-to-have's this afternoon. I thought: "Hey, why not ask Barb to come with me and...whilst en route...we get to know Mrs. Barbara a little better?"

Barb: This is ridiculous.
Me: You'll love listening to these tapes in 25 years.
Barb: Fine.

Me: Let the record show Barb said what she just said "fine" with the poutiest face ever and her arms crossed.
Barb: You are getting awfully big for your britches.

Me: I'm running the show here, Barb. Just relax. Have some fun.
Barb: Fine.

Me: I guess we'll-whoa! COME ON, BUDDY! YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME. You see that little idiot on the motorcycle just sneak up on me and zoom by going...80!? Goodness!
Barb: Margie-

Me: They should NOT be allowed to go in between lanes on the highway! I mean...that's why we got LANES, PAL! I hate motorcycles so much...
Barb: Margie. I'm-

Me: I know. Barb. I'm sorry. I just. I'm just saying...
Barb: You say you hate when I say that.

Me: I do. (pause) Barb is raising her eyebrow at me. I don't like it.
Barb: Let's get this over with.

Me: If you could live in any other time, when would it be?
Barb: The 20's. I love the clarinet.

Me: I'm not sure I understand that connection, but-
Barb: Jazz. The clarinet is used in a lot of jazz and that was...the jazz age, so...

Me: Never saw you as a jazz person. Always saw you as a...Michael Bolton-type person.
Barb: You've seen me listen to Harry Connick, Jr.

Me: I guess at, like, Christmas time, but-
Barb: Fine. The 20's because I'd like to live in a time when women wore hats. There. Forget jazz. I hate jazz.

Me: OK, we both need to bring it down a notch. This traffic is making us tense. "These pretzels are making me thirsty!!!"
Barb: What?

Me: Seinfeld. Nevermind. Let's ease into it. What's your favorite color?
Barb: Periwinkle.

Me: Is that your favorite word, too? It could be. That's a cool word.
Barb: No. My favorite word is "indubitably."

Me: Spell that for me...
Barb: I-N-D-U-B-I-T-A-B-L-Y...I think.

Me: Thanks. That'll come in handy later. ( - it did) What did you want to be when you were a little girl?
Barb: Well, obviously, I always wanted to be a mother, but...when I was really dreaming as a girl I thought I wanted to be a ballerina. I love those slippers. But sometimes I wanted to be a telephone operator.

Me: Those are two...very different options.
Barb: It depended on what kinda mood I was in.

Me: I see. Umm...what's gonna be your New Year's resolution next time?
Barb: To play more golf. I think playing more would really help me relax.

Me: I love the carts. Growing up, my next-door neighbor used to have one for a while. They're not as good on dirt, though.
Barb: I like walking. That's sort of where the relaxation takes place.

Me: What does "indubitably" mean again?
Barb: Like...obviously. Or...without a shadow of a doubt.

Me: Huh. Yeah. That is a good word.
Barb: See?

Me: What was your first thought when you saw Bill, like, for the first time?
Barb: Um...wow, um. Well, I'm not willing to say I knew-knew right then. But I knew he was different...better...than any man I'd ever met. I knew that the second I saw him.

Me: What about him physically do you remember when you think about that moment?
Barb: His hair. It wasn't long...I mean, obviously, it wasn't long. But it was a bit...shaggier. It was tussled, I guess. I little more tussly.

Me: I know what you mean. I love tussly.
Barb: Yeah. Sometimes I'll catch him at a particular moment and I'll think about that day. Sometimes when he wakes up from a nap...he kinda looks like that. Not that he looked like he just woke up from a nap when I first saw.

Me: I know what you mean.
Barb: You know what I mean.

Me: If you could be instantly good at a hobby - just a hobby, not something that would make you rich or famous or anything like that - what would it be?
Barb: That's a great question, Margie.

Me: Thank you. I'm glad you like it.
Barb: Let me think...

Me: Please.
Barb: Who wouldn't want to paint, I mean...

Me: Painting would be awesome.
Barb: I can knit well enough, so...and that's kinda boring anyway. Baking! I think it'd be baking! I love sweets-

Me: Who doesn't?
Barb: Everyone loves them. And these days, with everything being mass-produced and all pretty much tasting the same, I think people really appreciate some home cooked...whatever. Lemon bars. Or...snickerdoodles.

Me: Cinnamon buns!
Barb: Exactly! I think that would be my hobby: being an incredible baker. Baking the best stuff anyone's ever tasted. Breads, cakes...everything.

Me: Everyone wins.
Barb: Exactly.

Me: What was the lowest grade you ever got in high school?
Barb: Isn't there a time limit here? I heard there was a time limit.

Me: Barb.
Barb: (all serious and whatnot) I'm very embarrassed about this.

Me: It's OK, Barb. We're all in this together.
Barb: I...I got two C-'s. One more junior year. One my sophomore year.

Me: What were they? A C- isn't that terrible, by the way.
Barb: Geometry my sophomore year.

Me: I can totally see that. All those angles and...rays. What is a ray anyway?
Barb: The proofs!

Me: I hated the proofs.
Barb: Seriously.

Me: So that's fine. Who likes geometry? Seriously. C-. Fine. What was the other one? Physics? I hated physics.
Barb: Home Ec.

Me: WHAT?!?!?!?!?!!?!?
Barb: I know. But it was a mix up! I've never told anyone but my mother.

Me: I bet she laughed!
Barb: She did NOT laugh.

Me: You? Home Ec?
Barb: It was a D+, actually. Oh, my...

Me: What!?!
Barb: We had to sew a pillow together and-

Me: YOU? HOME EC? D+?
Barb: It was a snafu! Lars Linklator put my name on his piece of junk pillow and his name on my piece of brilliance and crabby old Ms. McEwen - she was from Alabama or somewhere way down there and she talked like Scarlet O'Hara, but slower - thought that buffoon was capable of doing the pillow I did so I got his terrible score and he got my A and she NEVER believed me. And the pillow counted for, like, 30% of the final grade. I was outraged. I thought about protesting.

Me: But didn't.
Barb: Yeah. But didn't.

Me: Wow. We're gonna end it on that. We got to. That's gold. The one and only Barb Henrickson. Mother of eight...Home Ec failure.
Barb: I didn't fail!

Me: What's the difference, Barb. D+? Come on?
Barb: You think you're so funny!

Me: I think you're so funny. And, by the way, [giggling] let's rethink that baking dream.
Barb: (smiling...pretending she's mad) I'm gonna get you back for this!
Me: Until then...signing off!