i don’t know what is about this season that brings out the explicit in people. yesterday it started with anne proclaiming her suspicion of a urethra conspiracy. they’ve been telling us it’s in the wrong place all these years, she said, eyes narrow. krissy and i exchanged glances. but — why? a plot contrived by the textbook-illustrators? for what conceivable purpose?
we brainstormed as we walked, anne being encased in one of those moods that requires six beers to jammerhammer through. krissy and andrea had come over for dinner, at which point instead of using my produce to fill burritos we used it to fill a trashbag. vegetables are never good in this country; extra special bonus, within a week they’re carpeted in soft white mold. mold brings out the girl in me: i see it and i shriek, horror-movie-style.
but andrea’s pasta was safe and krissy and i filled our burritos creatively. thinking my mushrooms were safe, we ate some of them too, only to notice putting them away that the other ‘shrooms looked trippy. we felt it later, after we bid off-to-london andrea adieu, but krissy decided to make her nausea so drunk it’d forget its designs and i just bought a diet coke. we met anne and set off walking, searching for a playground. instead we ended up by the statue of the lille mermaid transforming, wandering o’er the ramparts, watching sheep be weird, until a man in army fatigues requested politely that we take our laughter and explicitness (not to mention open alcohol containers) elsewhere.
when we were buying the beer at the supermarket, the clerk said, “can i see some ID?” for a moment, we stood there, deer-in-headlights, carved-in-stone, hearts-stopped, the siren of panic filling our ears. then he said, “just kidding.” sometimes i love europe after all.