Not without snacks.
I wish I were a scintillating conversationalist. I was standing in front of a canvas in my cellar yesterday thinking, “That’s not what it was supposed to look like.” I have conversations like that too, with the difference that you can paint over an oil painting. All I can do to salvage a conversation is blog about it.
Like this:
My wife and I were in a restaurant yesterday. Two women came in, one carrying a cello in a hard case.
“Look, a cello,” I said.
“I know that,” my wife said.
We had the schnitzel special. My wife and my daughter substituted potatoes with parsley for the potato salad. Judging from my digestion afterwards, a good choice.
We had been at the Museum of Natural History in Vienna. Afterwards, my wife and daughter were hungry. Lunchtime. I couldn’t make up my mind if I was or not. My wife, hungry, sheds her human mask and reveals a ball of Taser-packing copperheads underneath and she passed the gene to Gamma.
I found the cafe in the museum overpriced, and my wife found the service too slow, and so the fun started. We left in search of lunch; my priority: reasonably priced, reasonable quality. Their priority: food, now.
Never forget: always bring snacks.
The restaurant in the butterfly house was full. Doh, lunchtime. The cafe in the Albertina museum theoretically has good food, but it’s up at the top of the museum and we figured we’d get there, discover it was full and have to wander on so we skipped it.
Gamma had her heart set on spaghetti. She was sort of chanting it. Alpha led the way, saying things like, “Come on!” and “What, you’re not wearing gloves? Are you crazy?” and, “if you’d gotten a Ph.D. we’d be eating juicy steaks Right Now.” I was holding Gamma’s hand and trying to distract her. I saw a poster for a documentary about a group of accordionists from various cultures. I’d love to see that movie. Alpha wasn’t interested in backtracking to come see the poster, though, and Gamma and I had to jog a bit to catch up.
Three granola bars, you know? Or animal crackers, or three bananas. The world would have been a different place.
We ended up at the restaurant waiting for our schnitzels. We warned Gamma not to drink up all her Fanta at once because it had to last her through her entree.
Two women came in, one carrying a cello in a hard case.
“Look, a cello,” I said.