Back up to my Alma Martyr today. Yes, On Metro North. Yes, I figured out how (once I asked everyone who worked there. Sure.) Yes, sadly, for the last time.
I'm starting to feel like I go to school at Sadie Lou again, though. Apparently, that is her nick name. Apparently, my Grad School is Post Menopausal.
This time, I am picking up my car (to you the reader I am writing from the Library where my pass words still work, where people do me the favor of recognizing me and ignoring.( Oh, and to catch you up I had my car towed to good old Sarh Lawrence to be fixed by my Step Dad who came down, twice, from New England to work on it. Thank God he's unemployed, and not drinking.) ).
On my way to Grand Central, on the 4,5,6, I had the pleasure of listening to a woman get into a fight with her Imaginary Friend. No, I have no reason to make anything up:
"Yes! I'm getting up!"
She is blonde and wearing Sunglasses. She gets up for her Imaginary Friend. And gives her the seat.
"You NEVER listen. Never Ever."
She looks down. Other people start politely giving them their space. It seems private. It seems personal.
"Well, I am. I am twenty years older than you are!"
Ok, I'm pegging this woman for 4o. 40 years old. Which means that her imaginary friend was born when this woman was 20, a Junior in college let's say. I think then, it is safe to say, that the Imaginary Friend is now a Junior in College. Possibly failing Statistics. And more than likely has lame posters on her walls. Belushi in the sweater. The Choose Life Monolouge from Trainspotting.
I do say her because I think, more often than not, people think of imaginary friends as being male or animals-which default as male.
This Imaginary Friend, I suspect is named Delilah and plays the piano very well.
I wonder if their fight started because Augusto Pinochet died. I imagine that it did.
There's a lot to say.
In honor of Augusto Pinochet's death, today I purchaed a catch and release mouse trap. This way everyone gets out alive.
You hear me, Henry?