We had been to one of those theatrical productions in which two actors portray a dozen characters, but I wasn’t disposed to praise them for the accomplishment. “I can admire their virtuosity,” I said, “but their conviction didn’t survive their stretching it so thin.”
“You’re right,” she said. “They never quite managed to make any of the characters fully convincing. Now, on the other hand, Colin Hamell and Derry Woodhouse succeeded brilliantly in portraying what seemed like the entire population of Ireland in Mojo Mickybo.”
“I agree,” I said, because I did.
We attacked the crudités, saucissons, and pâté that had been brought to us as welcoming hors d’oeuvres. At some point, I may have muttered something under my breath.
“Something is bothering you,” she said.
“What makes you say that?” I asked, or demanded.
“Hmmm. Let me see. You haven’t praised the pâté, which I am enjoying thoroughly, you muttered something under your breath, and you are attacking that bit of sausage as if it were a threat to you and your way of life.”
“Put a sharp knife in my hand and I begin to think of doing something nasty to the woman who lives down the hall from me,” I growled.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because she is keeping a dog in her apartment.”
“What kind?”
“The short, fat kind with a face that looks as if he had eaten something putrid.”
“A pug,” she said.
“What annoys me most is that by signing the lease she agreed that the building is meant to be a dog-free zone, and there is an element of the social contract in that agreement. Her transgression of the rules is another example of the little incivilities and lack of fellow-feeling that set people against one another, and it infuriates me.”
“Are you becoming a curmudgeonly prig?” she asked.
“Certainly not,” I claimed.
She took a sip of her drink and then asked, thoughtfully, “Does the woman resemble the dog?”
“She does,” I said. “It’s as if she sought out a dog that resembled her. It could be her spawn.”
“How would you feel about this transgression of the rules if she were young and beautiful?” she asked. “Would you sic the authorities on her then?”
“Of course not,” I said. “I’d join her in a conspiracy to hoodwink the authorities and also the other residents, those heartless, humorless, dogless prigs.”
“In other words, you’d do your best to get into her culottes,” she said, and together we laughed.
“Now eat your dinner,” she said. “It’s comfort food.”
She found her chicken smooth and satisfying, and I declared my shrimp delicious and, yes, comforting. |
