Most sections of this story are true.
I was sitting at my laptop looking at Stuff On My Cat, when a wave of perspiration and nausea swept over me, and then it hit me. This was normally the hour I would be watching a new “Mad Men” episode, except that I wasn’t, because I had watched them all. My heartbeat became irregular and my skin was itchy, I ran into Tim’s office and sat across from him, I said “listen to me! This is important. I’m out of Mad Men episodes and I don’t think I am going to make it.” He looked up at me with glazed over eyes. “What I’m going to need from you is simple, I will require that you start wearing fedora hats with feathers and narrow lapelled suits, you will carry a very rectangular briefcase and you will answer to the name Don.” He started to speak , and I held up my hand, “Tim, er Don shut it, now listen, you will come home from work with a nasty bored attitude and perfume all over you, sit down to dinner and completely ignore me, I will hand you your favorite cocktail, the Old Fashioned, and serve you meatloaf.” “Later, you will rise from your seat and go sit in the living room where you will light up your 39th cigarette of the day, at which point I will excuse our black maid and come sit across from you, you will then look up at me over the top of your cocktail, bored, like I’m nothing more than a doormat with a vagina.” Wait… a… second. “Anyway, I will then smash out my own cigarette, blowing smoke out of my nostrils and say I’m going to bed, I will frown at you and stomp up the stairs. I will don a ridiculously lacy nightgown with matching robe.” “You will come in later, light up yet another cigarette, lay on the bed and contemplate you horrific childhood.”
I passed out at this point, and woke up on the sofa with Tim and Fatness looking over me. “Michelle are you oka….”
“What year is it? Where is Peggy, Paul, Joanie, Duck?” “Is JFK president?”
“Stop this! It’s 2009 and we have a new black president.”
“NOOOOO! I need people to be smoking constantly, drinking cocktails at work, and for women to be slaves to their men!” “I need you to slick back your hair and wear Old Spice aftershave!”
Tim grabbed me by my shoulders “listen to me! You made it through the Friday Night Lights hiatus and you will make it through this too.”
“TIM RIGGINS IS NO DON DRAPER! How dare you compare the two.” I said through clenched teeth.
“Michelle settle down,… while you were passed out I called Caca for help, she said to remind you that you still have 2 or 3 episodes of 30 Rock where Jon Hamm is the guest star AND she is bringing over her Mad Men Season 1 box set so you can watch the extras.”
“Oh, I haven’t watched any of the commentaries have I?” It felt like a shot of methadone.
“See, you will be fine.” Tim then sat Fatness on my lap and handed me a fresh Diet Coke with a lemon wedge.
“Can I still call you Don?”
“No.”
