Sunday Afternoon
I met my Flea Market friend Wendy in front of Zabar's and accompanied her while she bought coffee. We walked from there to the Flea Market chatting so you know we weren't walking quickly.
I thought I heard my cellphone ring. Yup. It's my sister.
Hey .. what's up?
Husband called me he is locked out of the apartment. He needs you to go home and let him in.
Huh?
Daryl. Husband called ..
I heard you. Why did you call me? Why didn't you go over and let him in?
Because I don't have keys to your apartment.
Yes you do.
No, I don't, remember ...
Okay. Okay. I know you have the keys but I don't want to argue now. I need to .. where did he call you from?
He's in the basement. He called from the phone B has down there.
Oh. Okay. I'll call him. Thanks.
I disconnect. I tell Wendy what's happened.
We were going to brunch but now I need to walk ALL the way home and let him in. She understands and suggests I go let him in then meet her at the restaurant. Its a plan!
As I am walking down 80th St. I can see him standing on the front step in his t-shirt, jeans and flip flops.
He says: Here comes my poor put-upon wife.
Clearly this man does not know when to keep his thoughts to himself.
I say: WHY didn't you call me?
He says: After I walked you out I went to the basement to turn the wash. When I got back upstairs I realized the door was locked. I didn't have my keys.
WHY didn't you CALL ME?
Because I don't know your cellphone number. And it seems you can't call Information to get it.
I shake my head, hand him the coffee filters and cookies I bought at Zabar's and say:
Your punishment is to memorize my cellphone number.
He laughs and says thank you.
When I get to the restaurant Wendy is seated and waiting for me.
Why, she asks, didn't he come meet you at the Flea and get the keys?
Why indeed.
When I got home after brunch Husband is on the phone.
He says: Here she is ..
It's our daughter Lisa.
She tells me he told her the whole story.
She says now you have something else to blog.
So Lisa. This one's for you!
