A boy bit my arm Saturday night. He staggered over to me at a party, slumped down in a chair, leaned over and bit my bare arm. And then he chewed it for a minute.
“Well, hello,” I said. “Can I help you?”
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he slurred, wiping off my arm. “I’m so drunk.”
Rather obviously, wouldn’t you agree? Still and all, I suppose I should try to take it as a compliment. Weight loss efforts have stalled at their usual point, rendering me able to fit into my pants but still sort of, uh, upholstered looking.
I’m thinking this is just my look. Cab drivers seem to like it. At least two of them in recent memory have thoughtfully pinched my thigh, as though testing a fruit. The last one pinched my thigh, and then announced, somewhat hilariously, “I am Egypt.” Maybe that was the explanation? I don’t know.
On the other hand, there have been some nice things lately. I’m reading a wonderful book by E.B. White, Here is New York. And here is a wonderful quote from the wonderful book:
On any person who desires such queer prizes, New York will bestow the gift of loneliness and the gift of privacy … No one should come to New York to live unless he is willing to be lucky.
Even better, the gentleman who lent me the book said, while recommending it over the phone, “I was just going to open it, and the spine started to make that great cracking sound, so I didn’t. You can crack it.”
I love flowers, but an untouched E.B. White book about New York is definitely the way to my heart.