A Quiet Moment at Home with Miss Edith, Notarius, and the Idiot Box

Another quiet night for Miss Edith and Notarius.

There we were, on our luxuriantly upholstered furniture, watching a re-run of Gilmore Girls, which pretty much hit the skids when Rory went off to Yale, though up to that point we’d both been pretty slavish in our devotion to it; Tuesday nights were sacred in our home.

We gave up on the show long enough ago that we’d totally lost the plot and, worse, had forgotten the names of some of the characters. Came a scene where Rory was trying to serve breakfast in bed to her boyfriend, who seems to’ve graduated from college and turned 25. (When did this happen, exactly?) Notarius and I tried to remember the character’s name but just could not.

“What the hell is his name,” Notarius muttered.
“Caleb?” I proposed.
“It’s not Caleb,” he said snottily. Wounded, I fell silent.
“Magruder,” Notarius said. “It’s Macgruder.”
“It is not,” I said petulantly.
“Fritz!” he crowed.
I pondered this. Why isn’t any named Fritz anymore?
“AH!” Notarius said, triumphant: “Logan!”

Logan it was, too. How quickly we forget.
But I still think people, if they’re going to insist on having children, should seriously consider revisiting the name Fritz. Folks are missing out on a good thing here.