March 17, 2004

Just another day around here . . .

Dear Diary,

After I finished my last post, Stew said to me, "Did I tell you about the tiles that were talking to me?"

The tiles in the bathroom at Chevy's, where we stopped off to eat after our handbag shopping expedition.

They were changing color, as if they were in code, and they were trying to talk to him. He wasn't sure what they were saying since he doesn't, as he says, "speak bathroom tile."

When I laugh at this he says, "Well, I don't!"

I would think not.

I gather they were flashing like an SOS, all the tiles in his view.
Different shades of the tile color, a dirtyish pink, but flashing shades.

This may sound odd. But when he came back to the table I was ready to go, with my box of half my dinner (since I only eat half, and take half home). He went to pick up the box, which was gaping open, and as he attempted to close it I said, "I don't understand the box. I can't seem to close it, I don't know what's wrong with it."

It was a different kind of box than I'm used to.

"Just hold the box closed," I whispered, "and head for the doorway as if you have a closed box. I don't want anyone to know that I can't close a box."

We could barely make it out the door before we started laughing.