Think 5th Avenue in New York, 4 pm on a sunny early spring day. I’m humming Putting on the Ritz and nod at a doorman with golden buttons who instantly puts a price tag on my belongings and goes back to napping.
And then he appears. Gray, short hair. Checkered woolen jacket with a single pink rose sticking out his breast pocket. Next to him, a giant white poodle that comes up to his waist, prances along. The poodle is so white he seems to glow in the evening light. Probably has pink toe nails too. Pretty soon the poodle comes up to what must be the only puddle in the street… and steps into it.
Think an oil changing garage in Utah. It smells like gas, sweat and melting snow. I am pretending not to be there by immersing myself in Angry Birds.
And then she appears. Cowboy boots painted with flowers of all colors and shapes. The kind of boots you’d put on a shelf next to a vase and a family portrait. Not the boots for walking. She sits down, pulls a phone out of her enormous flowery bag and starts to put one leg on top of the other. But it doesn’t work. There’s a chewing gum stuck to the sole…
Moral: Boots and white poodles pass but schadenfreude is forever. Yey to Avenue Q.