The last day Sweetman and I were in New York City, we spent it with No-No and her Sausage. The picture there is of the two of them. They looked so happy. They acted like they were a cute little married couple.
Sausage appeared to have goo-goo eyes for her. No-No definitely had the goo-goos for him. Both wore an everlasting smile the entire time. It’s possible they’d had sex the night before. The everlasting smile indicated this.
Our first stop with the blissful couple was to park the car in a garage somewhere. The cost, fifty bucks every half hour. Let me make a note to all my fellow Floridians, never complain ever again about the fifty cents every half hour we pay for our parking in the city. NYC socks it to you and good. Not to mention, make sure you’ve got tip money for the valet-parker-dude. Yup. We had to pay him too plus the every half hour fee. Talk about loosing your money in style.
We parked close to Rockefeller Center. Where the ice skating rink hangs out, waiting for ice skaters to come and glide all over its frozen self. It’s quite a site.
We even lunched at the Rock Café (nothing to really write home about let alone stealing a couple stars from the night sky to give them, our waiter was non-attentive and stressed out). I learned the Sausage ate lots of bread. Loves white soft bread.He went through two baskets. No-No as usual ate barely nothing. She’s got the eyes-are-too-big-for-her-stomach-syndrome. She ate about five forkfuls of pecan pancakes. Expensive pecan pancakes, mind you.
After, we walked down to Times Square. Elmo hung around the corner panhandling. Pretty sad to see little Elmo begging for money. Guess he lost his job on Sesame Street. By the looks of the show lately, they do look a little hard up. Their back drops look like big coloring books. That’s pretty cheap staging if you ask me. A box of Crayola's is way less expensive than paint and real furniture. Never thought I’d see the day a Sesame Street character hit rock bottom, but there he is, cup and all. Poor little guy begging for monies.
Sweetman dragged me away from him before I could scoop him up and stuff him in my handbag. I’m sure Sir Poops-A-Lot and Hair Ball would’ve loved a new brother. Sorry guys.
“He’s using her,” he said. “He’s using her for sex. He’s going to dump her for his family.”
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“He’s a Hasidic mess. Didn’t you hear? He hasn’t even introduced her to his family yet.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.” I squirmed in my seat.
“The entire time during lunch he was on the phone speaking to his father in Yiddish. Did you forget I’m Jewish?”
“Let’s hope they haven’t had sex yet.”
It’s a good thing Sweetman didn’t notice the everlasting smiles on their faces. That was the sign for me. I knew.
Anyway, three weeks later I get the call. The dreaded one. You know, he’s-left-me- and-I’m-almost-out-of-money-call. Help! And, I-can’t-believe-I-had-sex-with- him. I-thought-he-loved-me. Yup. That call.
Sorry, No-No, but you’re going to have to figure this one out. I’m not the Bank of Mom and my butt crack doesn’t resemble an ATM machine. Really. I use that crack for personal shit. Really.
Sorry to say, we told her so.
So, what is everyone else's kids up to these day?