Monday, February 23, 2009
After Ten Year Study, Loren Concludes That Her Husband is Also Her Best Friend
“That’s not true! I care! Lots of people care! God is kind and merciful!”
I’m confronting a scruffy old man holding a sign that reads: “America’s going to HELL.” My husband is dragging me along in his sprint, covering my mouth with his hand.
The man is shouting like an old prophet misplaced by a time machine. He’s standing on Fifth Avenue. “Forty thousand abortions in this country and you people just keep walking. You don’t care. America doesn’t care and you’re all going to Hell.”
The old man chooses not to see me turn towards him and speak in the crowd of passers-by. He looks right through me.
“Let’s go…Don’t bother…I’m starving,” says my husband, irritated but not surprised at my need to respond to the sidewalk preacher. (His hand was gripping my arm before a word exited my mouth.)
We go to The Top of the Rock, and the view is clear and beautiful. Then we hit the street again to find a place to eat lunch. As we walk along someone is attempting to parallel park, and she is one centimeter away from denting a parked Lexus. I stop and try to motion to the driver that she is too close.
“Come on, just leave her.” Again the husband drags me by my coat sleeve. We hear crumpling metal as we turn the corner and enter our destination, an Italianate 1960’s style restaurant. The decor is The Jetson's cartoon hip. I order the Caprese salad, fresh mozzarella and tomatoes made of gold. The husband orders a sausage on a bed of onions. That’s right. It’s one white seafood stuffed sausage on top of caramelized onions. I laugh and cover my mouth. Then the waiter puts chopsticks next to his plate, and I nearly fall off my orange leather chair.
As soon we’re alone, we both bust up with laughter.
“What would you do if I put this dish in front of you at home.” I say, between laugh-snorts.
“Um, probably fling it at you. Actually, it tastes good.” He’s in the hungry trance right now. I’ll tell him what he ate later when he snaps back to reality.
Next we take a carriage ride through Central Park. Our horse’s name is Gino, and the driver is Eddie. The seat and blanket is blue and furry. We get a history lesson about the park and surrounding buildings. Ten years have past since the last time we took this ride, on our honeymoon, and I think of how much we’ve both changed since then, and how much we’ve stayed the same. The difference now is mainly that neither of us can shock the other without effort.
On the way back to Penn Station we pass a scalper.
“Tickets, tickets to the fight. Hey, buddy you want to see a fight?”
“No thanks, we’ll fight later for free.” My husband is smiling after his clever quip. I know it’s because he just got a laugh out of a complete stranger, and inched another step closer to his goal of 2009 bad jokes for the year 2009.
Heading into Penn, we pass another scalper.
Hey, Miss, Wanna see a comedy show tonight? We have drunk midgets.”
I laugh, so enjoying the set-up.
“No thanks, I have three of those at home.”
We’re both still laughing on the train, because my jokes are actually funny. I laugh at his anyway, because that makes a good marriage. I get him to heaven, he gets us some grub.
Dear Internet Traveler,
Welcome to my writer's blog, started about six years ago for fun. Over time, the writing I have posted has ranged from personal reflection, to Long Island history research, to tall tales for my own amusement, to feature articles for local newspapers. As you can see from topics listed here, I travel in many mental directions in regard to interests. Click on the tabs and labels to explore my strange mind which senses that you may be having a criss-cross day. If so, perhaps this blog will distract you. However, please note that if you tell me my blog is beautiful just to get me to advertise rhinoplasty surgery and cheap drugs from Canada in your comment, I will ask the gods to give you a tail that cannot be concealed.