A gal riding a rickety bike up my street. Cigarette dangling from her lower lip. She's steering with one hand. In the other hand, she eyeballs a copy of the Onion. (Somebody marry this girl!)
Days later, two languidly trim twenty-something girls in Tompkins Square Park. Loosely coordinated outfits: one wears drop-dead mod plaid knee-lenth skirt with inverted pleat in the back, knee-length, bare legs, heeled black Mary Janes. Fitted brown tee. The other wears a beige tank and man-styled fitted trousers. They are playing croquet in the grass with ancient wooden mallets. Behind them a tastefully flowered picnic blanket, plaid thermos, lovely totes. It was all like a photo shoot, but where were the cameras?
Zoe and Stella and I has a picnic in the grass near them. We were in the trajectory of one of their wooden croquet balls. We played hide and seek around a giant elm tree with branches so heavy and old they arched over and brushed the ground. Good place to hide.
The two girls played croquet for a long time. White home boy in wife beater and sweats jumped over the black-iron fence to join them. They were kind. They let him play.
One of the reasons I forget I'm married is that I rarely spend any time alone with my husband. But tonight we went out to dinner--
and blah, blah, blah. It was great and I want to have my 40th birthday there. More about that later.
Now it's July 14th and I'm leaving for Utah. If I don't die in a fiery crash tonight, then I'll be posting again on the 27th.
Cheers!
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