I recently had the pleasure of visiting Washington, D.C., home of politicos, party
crashers, and run-for-you-life terror corners (care of Southeast D.C.).
I came with a crew of three—my mother, Buff-a-Lee, sister, Beej, and a Trusted
Friend. On our way to a Georgetown eatery, we encountered someone we now refer to as Georgetown Santa. This slovenly dressed man, in complete Santa regalia, full white-beard, and seemingly inebriated, jovially greeted passersby in homeless beggar fashion.
Trusted Friend indicated that Georgetown Santa could be a good match for my mother
Buff-a-Lee, whose recent divorce left her manless—what a travesty. But in her post-
divorce tumult, on the edge of desperation, I doubt Buff-a-Lee would have fallen so hard as
to take Georgetown Santa under her wing.
Situated comfortably in our restaurant, Buff-a-Lee suddenly volunteered, seemingly out of the blue, that she had started to retrain her bladder. Chortling, yet aghast and dismayed, Beej, Trusted Friend, and I slinked underneath the table, into the depths of the booth, white fabric napkins in hand, shunning Buff-a-Lee, and leaving her sharing her bladder retraining story to the salt-and-pepper shakers and silverware.
And share she did. She kept detailing how she was retraining her bladder to hold more
and more in an effort to seriously curb her frequent pit-stops. Buff-a-Lee, perhaps damaged from years of raising two punk-brat children, sought revenge. Or maybe in her early retirement, she wanted to blend in better with other retirees who engage in inappropriate conversations, completely oblivious of their wholly obscene monologues.
Unfortunately, our shunning did not proceed without incident. Buff-a-Lee launched a bread bullet into my napkin wall and proceeded to do the same to Trusted Friend. Then Buff-a-Lee lurched sideways and grabbed Beej’s napkin, revealing Beej’s baby girl cherub face equipped with a visible, seething rage for Buff-a-Lee blowing her cover. Beej yanked her napkin back and re-walled. All three walls were uniform and back in solidarity. Our napkin walls could be intruded upon, but nothing would stop them from rebuilding and conquering the catalyst of their erection.
After a solid minute of this shunning, we took our napkins down and told Buff-a-Lee that
her screws were fully loose. Beej, facing the outside of the establishment, caught a
glimpse of Georgetown Santa. She realized that perhaps Georgetown Santa would be
the perfect match for bladderless Buff, each a little quirky in his or her own way. Beej
announced this to the crew. And, in typical Buffalee fashion, Beej was immediately
socked with a bread bullet.
Categories: Trash
The Social Moth 
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