Our own Emily Litella
(Hey finally a post not connected to school. Apologies in advance to all those who never watched Saturday night Live in the early 80's.)
Ten years ago, we were taking our Labor Day vacation on Cape Cod. We will always remember that trip because that was the weekend Princess Diana died. Trust me, you don't want to be in Provincetown with 4000 gay men on that day.
A few weeks later after we returned, we were visiting Larry's mom who at the time lived ten minutes away. As we regaled her with stories from our vacation, she turned her focus back on the recent tragedy.
"Did you hear about Princess Diana? So sad. So young," she said. We both agreed that her life had been cut short far too soon.
She continued, "I just don't understand how these things could happen. I think that man is awful."
We looked puzzled. "What man?" Larry asked.
"The man who killed her. What an awful thing to do. It's hard to be believe that people like him so much. I never liked his music at all."
"What man? Who do you think killed her?"
She rolled her eyes as if we hadn't heard a thing about the accident. "Pavarotti."
(The pause was indefinite.)
"Mom, she was killed running from the Paparazzi, not the opera singer."
She sat there a minute and just looked at the television playing on in the background.
"Oh...nevermind."
Ten years ago, we were taking our Labor Day vacation on Cape Cod. We will always remember that trip because that was the weekend Princess Diana died. Trust me, you don't want to be in Provincetown with 4000 gay men on that day.
A few weeks later after we returned, we were visiting Larry's mom who at the time lived ten minutes away. As we regaled her with stories from our vacation, she turned her focus back on the recent tragedy.
"Did you hear about Princess Diana? So sad. So young," she said. We both agreed that her life had been cut short far too soon.
She continued, "I just don't understand how these things could happen. I think that man is awful."
We looked puzzled. "What man?" Larry asked.
"The man who killed her. What an awful thing to do. It's hard to be believe that people like him so much. I never liked his music at all."
"What man? Who do you think killed her?"
She rolled her eyes as if we hadn't heard a thing about the accident. "Pavarotti."
(The pause was indefinite.)
"Mom, she was killed running from the Paparazzi, not the opera singer."
She sat there a minute and just looked at the television playing on in the background.
"Oh...nevermind."
Labels: Larry
posted by Steve at
6:53:00 AM
5 Comments:
That's classic. My mom does things like that sometimes. I should start writing them down.
I wouldn't have put it past Pavarotti, he had a dark side.
Classic.
Thank you for that.
Oh my god, awesome! See, this is why I love people... they just rock in their own little weird ways.
A short story about Diana getting murdered by Pavarotti would be cool.
Unbelievable! I guess he got away with it.
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