The other night I attended a dear friend's wedding in Hunter up in the Catskills. It was Labor Day weekend and pouring cats and dogs (more like elephants and rhinoceruses, it was very wet). The wedding of 2-3 hundred guests took place outdoors in a tent with grass as the flooring, and many shoes were sacrificed. Forewarned about the storm and the circumstances, I made the the fashion forward choice of Ugg Boots and couture silk suit. It cost me howls of laughter from my husband who tried to disguise the humiliation he was trying to inflict with words like "cute", but earned me respect an hour later when his Italian leather shoes were soaked to the soles.
As the sweet celebration wound down, probably earlier than otherwise would have happened due to the weather, I put some mental puzzle pieces together to recognize a woman whose tiny studio I had sublet the summer before, but whom I had never personally met. She was So embarassed because of the mice that had accompanied me on my sublet. She swore it had never happened before, this mouse issue, and I should confirm it with my friend, she would know. I played it down as no big deal, but my husband and I have for a year referred to that apartment squeamishly as "The Mouse House." Not that I don't think mice are cute. I have even attained infamy by rescuing a domestic rat in New York and taking it in as a pet. It was just very close quarters in that tiny studio, and the mice made noise and went in my clothes and food, and that crossed some kind of line for me. She apologized again and again, offering an explanation that the mice came due to some construction that was happening and must have only been there when I was there because they were gone when she was back from her tour. I quipped, "Oh, so they are refugees."
She replied ingenuously, "Wait...are you talking about that guy who brought anthrax into the building? I'm talking about the mice."
"Refugees from the construction...," I said, assuring her I was talking about the mice, but what was that about anthrax...?
She explained that some refugee had come from a foreign country and had brought anthrax into her tiny 4 floor walkup in the Village, giving everyone a good scare. I am glad I didn't know about it, as it would have given me a good scare, too.
Do those of you who have been feeling homesick feel a little better now?
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