Last night, after Instant Theatre (which was great, by the way- and there’s talk of workshopping one of my plays! Calloo!), P.J. and I went to Margie’s Candies. It’s gotten so we can’t be on the Western bus, at the Armitage and Western corner or even on that leg of the Blue Line without needing to stop by for some ice cream. (“Well, we’re here…) Last night was no exception, although we decided to only get it to go. (Does that make it less of a Margie’s Candies spree? “We’ve had ice cream four times this week!” “Yeah, but that last time we just got it to go.”)
You see, the Western bus is darned finicky (see- Expresstern post) and can take quite a bit of time to show up. Not last night! As soon as we exited the shop (shoppe?) we saw a bus coming. A way down the street, sure, but certainly not enough time to pound a pistachio cone without getting a headache the size of Guam. Or even Rhode Island. Besides, I was walking veeery carefully as the pistachio was apparently quite slippery. The guy at Margie’s scooped some on my cone, went to hand it to me and PLOP. In some other tub of ice cream. (I asked if I could just carry that one home. He laughed. I was serious.) So, I was rushing the pistachio for NO MAN. P.J., of course, had no such issue as his was a chocolate malt and lidded as per bus regulations. We had a Benny Hill-like few moments where we decided how to hide the cone from the bus driver. Under P.J.’s shirt? No. Upside down in his malt? Perhaps, but…no! It doesn’t fit! Can you drink faster? No? Darn it…As the bus pulled up I was struck with inspiration. Wrapping a napkin around the top of the cone, I placed it into my bag (an Italian leather beauty that cost a few hundred bucks, mind you. It was a gift and had they but known it would be a vehicle for dairy it might have been revoked) and nonchalantly beeped my bus pass, smiling at the driver. We sat way in the back and I carefully unwrapped my pistachio prize. No ice cream headache! No wasted food! And best yet, no five hundred dollar fine for eating on the bus ’cause I housed that baby. (Apparently no one says “housed” out here, Kate. Can you explain?)
Speaking of Kate (hi, Kate), she called me today and as I picked up I heard, “Just in time! Are you ready?” And then chorus of “I just called to say I love you.” Phew! We almost missed our song on the radio! It’s a good thing we caught it or we’d just have to wait until the next time Bohemian Rhapsody, She’s Like the Wind, You Shook Me All Night Long, Dancing on the Ceiling or anything from the original cast recording of Grease came on. (It shocks me that we accomplish anything in a day at all.)
And this is for Kate as well. (It just passed the test of a modern day three and half year old, so I really think they had something there.)
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