THE MAINE EVENT



My friend S. is Most Def Totes Brill. Cheeky, outspoken, lezzie Brit with spikey hair who writes and directs movies. You know the type. I seem to be a bug zapper to whacky chicks of this ilk.

We met at the Dog Park. My Polly was introduced to her kids - Bling-Bling : the Chihuahua, Cowboy : the dappled Mini-dachshund, and Violet : the Weimeraner who raison d’etre is The Ball. Quite a cast.

S. doesn’t really like LA. Her first movie here made a star of Lindsey Lohan but didn’t do much for S. She recently told me she was moving to Maine where she’d rented a hundred something old farmhouse. She’d write and Bling-Bling, Cowboy and Violet would be free to roam.

Oh... Maine, I tell her. You’ll have to buy clothes.

What? like warm clothes? she asks.

No! Like clothes all the women in Maine wear.

What do you mean?

Dresses. Long dark dresses that go to your shins. Very low waisted, that kind of thing.

Naw! In colors?

Gray. Dark dark gray like stormy skies.

Made of rough cotton.

Dyed burlap. With a high high neck and long sleeves.

And knee socks!

Black hose and black shoes.

Orthopedic shoes!

Man shoes! And you’ll have to put a pebble in each one so every step you take reminds you of this mortal coil.

When I walk into town?

Once a month. The villagers point at you and stare. LIke the Town Witch.

What will I eat? Lobster?

Ha. You’ll eat jam and bread. One jar to last you through the winter.

So just one little scrape of jam per bite.

The tiniest bit.

All the local children will dare each other to knock on my door.

Finally one does and you slowly open the door and point one finger at him and say I know you FROM THE VILLAGE!

And Cowboy will lunge!

They’ll tell everyone they saw a monster! I shreik.

S., whose eyes are gleaming and smile is wide, says Gawd, you’ve got me terrified. Is Maine like that?

I dunno, I’ve never been. Remember The Perfect Storm? I think that was Maine.

That’s dreadful.

Fisherwomen might be hot.



1:55:54 PM    sro home /