Lest We Forget Who Lay

All kinds of people come into the store, stare at the beautiful merchandise and blurt something delightful.

Customer 1: What do I get a goth kid for Christmas?

Customer 2: I bought a pair of earrings here last week and lost one. Do you have a match?

Customer 3: Where can I find a shaman?

These are problems. I can solve them.

1: We have stained glass dragons. Your budding goth boy will want a matched set, possibly as many as five. For no reason. That I'll tell you.

2: If you get a third piercing you can wear all your shinyshiny unmatched earrings.

3: Phone book. Sheesh!

It's a warm night for January. People say the same thing: "I walk by here all he time. Tonight, I thought I'd come inside." Sun-60 is on the CD player because I felt like hearing Should Have Seen the Moon. An hour ago, I looked around for snacks I heard calling me ("Ta! Ta, darling! We're French fruit cookies!" "Ta, we're cheesy crackers you wouldn't buy on a dare - and you're bored!") so I put on lipstick and vacuumed the store in self-defense. On Tuesday, I picked out some beautiful sparkly ornaments on after-holiday special, boxed them up and promptly forgot what they were. In about an hour, I can go home, sip pinot grigio and watch the two-hour CSI. My terrible memory makes whatever's in the box a present and a surprise.

Some people say today is Joan of Arc's birthday. Happy Joan of Arc's birthday to me. When Joan of Arc was my age, she'd been dead for 22 years. I am still learning how to decorate.

Sometimes Siobhan and I go out to dinner. Historically, we'd pick different items off the menu, then I'd want whatever she'd order. I adapted to Entree Envy by ordering whatever she ordered, which proved unsatisfying as well, when there were other yummy flavors we could not then sample. Recently, I've taken a different tack.

Tata: Siobhan, what do I want for dinner?
Siobhan: You want the crabmeat-stuffed flounder and steamed broccoli.
Tata: I do! I want that!
Siobhan: I'll have the scallops...
Tata: Damn it!

Fortunately, my memory is like Gerald Ford's trick knee - for Chevy Chase. Most restaurants serve slowly enough that by the time my plate arrives my order is a surprise.

Tata: Crabmeat stuffing! I love broccoli!
Siobhan: Couple of scallops?
Tata: Scallops, too?! I could drop dead of happiness!
Siobhan: Your funeral will have a two-drink minimum, won't it?
Tata: And lox. I wish to be mourned with delicious canapes and a zydeco band.
Siobhan: We talk about your funeral a lot.
Tata: Can't leave everything to the last minute. Who'll hire the jugglers?

On second thought, maybe I should have eaten the cookies.