...I greet them with the widest smile/ Tell them how my life is one big adventure....
Because both Mo and BuddaPat want to see me in it, I wear the red. Mo is fascinated by my white fishnet tights. Coco is fascinated that I can put them on, tug at the toe, and twist them into the proper place. Herb sits in the corner, knitting, until he notices the tag of my bra and tucks it in. Tiberius is the picture of natty splendor. 8Blonde returns from the car, panic relieved, because his shoes were there after all.
Mo puts on the pink. "It's so pretty. Are you sure it's okay to get blood on it?"
I've died in that gown so often, it knows how to wash the blood out its ownself. It's mostly pretty because you're wearing it.
"Hear hear to that! I owe a big thank-you to Coco, because I get to snuggle with Mo this time, and I'm getting paid for it!" BuddaPat wriggles triumphantly.
General merriment and agreement ensue.
Mo arches an eyebrow. "Please. I am a married woman."
BuddaPat waggles his eyebrows. "I know- Grrrraaaaaahggr!"
Hmph. I also am a married woman.
"Whaddayou talkin' about? I date you more than any other woman I know!"
He does, too. But not lately. Thus my pique.
Mo gets one side of him and I the other as we walk to the restaurant. I struggle to match my stride to those of these two long-legged beauties. High-heeled boots do little to make up for short legs, despite the illusion of height.
"I'm a lucky guy, walking to The Vee with two of the most beautiful ladies in Baltimore."
"Too bad they're both married," Mo replies.
Are you kidding? He prefers married ladies. He doesn't have to "maintenance" us.
He laughs and admits to the truth of that.
"Why choose? Use the Wa."
"The Wa. Do you know Chi? It's like Chi, only Japanese."
I know Chi. It's energy, the flow, letting things come to you.
"You should just choose the one that's best for your throat. What have you got?"
"No, that's not the way of Wa." He turns the two tea packets face-down. "Now choose."
Let Mo choose for me.
"But I want to know what you've got! Mint's for your stomach; what else have you got there?"
"It doesn't matter. Just choose one."
She heaves an exasperated sigh. "Okay, then, I choose the one closest to you, BuddaPat."
He lifts his hand and turns over the tea packet closest to him. It is orange, soothing for my throat. The mint goes back into the basket.
See? The Wa works for you even when you're arguing against it.
A philosophical conversation follows, on the nature of energy flow and imposition of will and the illusion of control. This winds to a natural end and somehow segues into a discussion of dairy farming and pasturization, led by the very furry man at the end of the table.
BuddhaPat dons splendid armor because the poor man's behind me in his van when my car, unmysteriously, stops working at a traffic signal. He helps me to push it out of the intersection and drives me to a gas station. My Buddha in shining armor refuses to let me pump gas into his gas can, or to pour it into the tank when we return to my car. This is embarassing. I almost would rather have called Triple A. But he's right; his way is more time effective. He makes me promise to never let this happen again. I feel foolish that it happened this time. It's been two or three cars ago since I ran out of gas.
He follows protectively until the I take off down Key Highway and he continues on Light Street. He is three blocks from his house when a drunken couple swaying on the corner of Cross Street waiting for the light to change falls into the street just as he's tapped the accelerator.
"I know, that's what I said!"
Before or after you hit the brake?
"After. I didn't hit 'em. People rushed from the sidewalk to drag them to safety. But, me, I'm just trying to get HOME, you know? I mean, what ELSE is going to happen to me at one-thirty in the morning?"
Well, I don't know. It's an entertaining life you lead these days, my friend.
(Big Time; Peter Gabriel)