If I’d written anywhere other than in my head these last weeks, there’d be something here about the park opening across the street. I’d have said something about the hot chocolate at Vivace (not to sweet, nearly perfect). I might have recalled the time that Jon asked me how George Washington managed to win the Revolution and seemed so unconvinced by my answer that I believed for a moment that that war hadn’t been won. I would have mentioned the woman standing in line in front of me who had frowned so often over so many years that her laugh lines had frozen her face into a permanent expression of dissatisfaction.
I know that this comment isn’t specifically about this post, which was a good one (I know the feeling), but I had to make it anyway. “S”? Are you in cahootz with Anita and the whole “R” thing? Initials are so dry and bitter, leaving a taste in my mouth that I feel I must try to remove by rushing to the bathroom and using my Arm & Hammer Baking Soda and Peroxide toothpaste. And what is up with that? Is that a long enough name for a toothpaste? Couldn’t it have just been Arm & Hammer B,S & P? Or why not, A&H-BS&P? Or just, oh never mind, I’m prattling on, throwing initials all over the place. “S” could have been Sandy, or Shalimar, or Subtle Shades of Auburn Highlights. Those initials just bug me. I’ll go back to my corner now.
S. was an imperfect editorial compromise.