And somewhere a cat wails.

I saw this the other day.


A middle-aged woman parked and got out. She was tanned. She was bleached. She was blown-out. She was plucked. She was blingity-bling-blinged. I couldn’t figure this one out.

I needed my BFF Chile. Back in my City Days, we’d spend countless hours in bars, swigging Bud Light from bottles and making up stories about strangers. The only rule was, you couldn’t choose your own stranger.

For her, I’d choose rockabilly hipsters, argumentative couples, and women sitting alone. Her stories pretty much always involved a cruise of some sort. And bongo drums.

For me, she’d choose sad old men, big boobed bimbos, and buttoned-up business men. My stories pretty much always involved a stripper pole. And dirty mattresses. Apartments filled with cats. Run of the mill stuff.

If Chile were here, she say the Call Me Lady was an aggressive Mary Kay Consultant, trying to earn enough points to win a pink Caddy. And take her husband on a cruise to Mexico. Where, after three days of mind-numbing shuffleboard tournaments, she’d get drunk on pina coladas and have illicit sex with a smelly bongo player.

I’d disagree. Clearly the Call Me Lady is an escort. My first inclination would be to say this was the madam, but I’m pretty sure the madam would have INCLUDED HER PHONE NUMBER SOMEWHERE.

Or maybe she’s just really good at suggestive sign language. All I know is somehow there’s got to be a stripper pole.

And cats.


Filed under Piece of the Past

11 responses to “And somewhere a cat wails.

  1. It could be a combination of the two…a “Mary Kay Madam.” After all, she’s pimpin’ make-up! Or something like that.

    Your bar game sounds an awful lot like what I do on airplanes with the people sitting around me…in order to take my mind off the fact that I’m hurtling through the air at 600+ miles an hour.

    The last time I flew, there was a nun, in traditional garb, seated diagonally from me. She kept glancing at the man to her right. I was certain the two were having an illicit affair.

    Hey, it could happen.

  2. then there is the option that she is real estate agent. Here in L.A., at least, they put their photos on their business cards, even on bus benches.

    that or, okay, you’re right, there is likely a pole in there somewhere.

  3. Maybe it was Deborah Harry?

  4. i dated a guy when i first moved to DC who enjoyed having loud, made-up conversations in public. like, when we rode the metro together, he would talk a long narrative about his “time in the african jungle running for his life from a pride of lions” or something. and i always had to play along. except, i’m really bad at acting and coming up with stuff on the fly. whatever. i was 19 and he was in his 30s. it was a good learning experience for me… in many ways…

  5. Finn

    Aw, Steph. You took mine!

  6. 3limes

    I think she is a stalker and he know who he is. Hide those rabbits!!!!

  7. littlemansmom


  8. Awesome.

    A few months back I saw a plate that said ‘HATER’.

    Really? Hater? This guy hates life so much he had to announce it? Maybe all he needs is to take a cruise with a stripper. Or call the madam lady for some Mary Kay.

    My plate used to say “TOOHAPY”. And I meant it.

  9. There’s definitely a stripper pole involved somehow.

    P.S. Steph, you took the words right out of my mouth.

  10. Dang Steph! Beat me to it.

    I vote Real Estate Agent.

  11. Definitely either a real estate agent or a super-aggressive saleswoman — billboards or pharmaceuticals would be my guess.

    Or Debra Harry. I hear she’s into pharmaceuticals now. 😉

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