Off-Topic Tuesday, or, The Royal Wedding is Over and The Queen is Exhausted!

;Photo captured by famed Harlem Renaissance photographer James Van Der Zee, 1937 , A Bride and Her Groom, Harlem, New York

A dear friend of mine who lives across the pond checks in with me by telephone often enough that I don’t readily notice how far away from home he is.  This friend is special.  We met way back when in middle school.  When the world was a different, innocent place (from our youthful perspective),  long  before the scrourge of HIV/AIDS, the War on Terror and the Gentrification of every In-Town neighborhood in every Big City ( yes, I am a woman of a certain age).  He was the funny, cherub looking  boy who  introduced himself to me in the most peculiar way:  

*George was notorious for snatching food out of the hands of his fellow classmates while “asking” if he could have a piece, a sip or a bite.  Before you realized what happened, George had already slurped on your soda can, reached into your chip bag  or broke off a piece of your chocolate bar (please ignore the food choices–we were young and not concerned about our blood sugar or cholesterol levels AND we played.  Outdoors).  George was brilliant.   He knew that after his long slurp and grimmy hands –the soda, the bag of chips and the entire chocolate bar would be his to enjoy– gratis!    Well, I had heard about George and his keen way of supplementing his lunch and I was ready for him. 

One day I was enjoying a can of Pepsi (again, I was young); George walked up to me  and snatched the can of Pepsi from my hand.   Before I could utter a word  he was  slurping.  He offered the half consumed can back to me and I politely accepted.  He was shocked!  So was everyone else.  Knowing The Recovering Attorney like they did, they correctly assumed that I would not be drinking from that can ever again ( I didn”t share food then and I don’t now unless I am married to you, carried you in my womb or was conceived and or birthed by you–I am an only child).  Right they were.  However, thinking quickly— in front of George and the rest of the gathered crowd (I later learned that George told our peers that he was going to snatch my soda can as a way of getting to “know” The Recovering Attorney), I calmly and slowly poured the remaining contents of the can onto the pavement.  George was not going to get my Pepsi by default.   If I wasn’t going to drink my soda neither would he!   He said the equivalent of touche.  And on that day we became “besties” for life.

That’s the back story.   Fast forward to Sunday:

The phone rings at an odd hour.  It’s George.  He’s winded, out of breath and just plain “extra.”  That’s common for George for on any given day his life is a “well written” soap opera, sitcom and  reality show (“well written” soap, sitcom or reality show isn’t that an oxymoron?) all rolled into one.  But he was a little much this Sunday.  Even for George.   

The conversation— George:  “The Recovering Attorney,” it was a success!   For the past five months I’ve been ordering and organizing.  Planning, checking, re-checking blah, blah, blah.” 

Me:  “What are you talking about?  Planning what and why didn’t I know about these plans?   If you are making major plans and life changes, why didn’t I know about it?  I am hurt!” 

George:  “You and the world know that I’ ve been unusually busy for the past five months and on Friday  all of my meticulous planning was revealed–including the outfit.  And the affair went off without a glitch!…You know that there is just one Queen in England and it’s me!  My Royal Wedding Watch Party was the most blinding party in Bayswater!”  FUN-KNEEEEEE!!!!

George of course was referring to his catered, over the top, Royal Wedding Watch Party that he held at his flat.  George is  naturally royal, clever and I just love him to death!!!  I hope that I was successful in relaying our hilarious telephone conversation.  Sometimes nuances get lost in the re-telling especially when you have to edit to keep the content family friendly.  Ha!

*George is not his real name.    

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