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So let me at least do a Kathy Griffin and give you something to smile about. I am loopy with happiness that F passed the theory part of his driver's license test not because I really care that much about the car but just because he had taken the thing to heart so much by this point. I had prepared how to say in Italian that John Kennedy Jr. took more than three times to pass the bar exam just in case things went the other way. Plus it was encouraging or really irritating depending what mood we're in that T passed the practice exam even though she has not studied the rules of the road and has never driven a car. Lasciamo perdere -- or in Brooklynese -- Fugghedaboudit.
|The profile of someone who passed the Italian driver's license test.|
|This is T sitting around doing nothing for three hours as a volunteer tutor for a class that did not take place and then listening to her principal give a speech. Now that is an Afterschool program con i fiocchi!|
However, it turned out that instead of doing choreography with the big girls they wanted me to help the head teacher with the tiny girls --tiny girls who can still correct my grammatical mistakes. But tiny girls nonetheless. And since tiny girls tend to love me and also building musical fairy houses I quickly was super popular amongst the little critters who took turns running out to cry to their mommas, to go to the bathroom, to misplace their water bottles and to lunge themselves at my legs. My favorite was this plump, gorgeous doll of ballerina who had a little baby voice which towards the end of class inexplicably turned into a smoker's rasp. She peered up at me from between my feet and she said to me: Che fatica! Guarda come sono sudata!/ What an exhausting experience. Look how sweaty I am! and then wiped her little palms all over my face and declared me to be even sweatier than she. I love adults.
In my newfound zeal for not refusing any invitations to do anything with anyone who could possibly turn out to be fun or a good friend I did not cancel my dinner date with Fede. Halfway through dinner who did I see before my eyes but the head teacher from Happy Gym! Scandal! Wasn't she supposed to be on a train?! Fede told me I should casually say goodbye to her after we paid and were walking out, but it turned out that the teacher and I were exchanging quick glances in a mirror so she was actually seated behind me. Fede says she saw her duck and cover her face as we were exiting. Of course I am way too scrupulous to ever use this information against her should need be. . . Just kidding! Hi friends.
After dinner we went to a popular bar in front of an important church where everybody takes their cigarettes and drinks to defile and be raucous and bad. There we met my friend Serena and Fede's bartender friend also named Serena who is actually a kindergarten teacher who needs extra income. Her job is also to sweep up in front of the church. She was happy as a clam this night because she has great prowess for instructing tiny people, but is a total flop at rolling cigarettes and she had found a tobacco box that has a silk lining and rolls them for you. You put the poison in the crack and when you shut the lid it spits out the cigarette, in this case, into the cobblestoned street below faster than that scene in Pretty Woman where Julia Roberts pulls her finger out of a ring box.
P.S. It is a good thing that we can't use the car because the gas attendants are also on strike. Just sayin' . . .
Arrivederci, Brooklyn! We like you, do you like us?