6.20.2004
Turning Soprano
Driving my Mom to work in the well-to-do town of Wilton. We cross a bridge from their sickeningly quaint "downtown" (two blocks long).
From the back, it looks like the khakied gentleman is riding a bike with his Golden Retriever trotting aside him. But as soon as he bumps over that misplaced sidewalk slab, it is clear that the apparatus flying from between his legs is in fact a unicycle.
I acknowledge the potential comedic factor, but don't initially react. My mom reports what she sees from the rear view mirror:
"Oh shit, poor guy. His balls must be in his front pockets now. He's pretending that spill was nothing, but now, oh yeah buddy, sit down on that curb. No, no one knows you're about to throw up and now infertile. Just tying your shoe, that's right."
Then, we can't resist. We crack up to no end.
"That's great, we're laughing, and that man's turning soprano," she sings out between laughs.
"You just don't see that everyday. I wish I could replay that to his colleagues."
From the back, it looks like the khakied gentleman is riding a bike with his Golden Retriever trotting aside him. But as soon as he bumps over that misplaced sidewalk slab, it is clear that the apparatus flying from between his legs is in fact a unicycle.
I acknowledge the potential comedic factor, but don't initially react. My mom reports what she sees from the rear view mirror:
"Oh shit, poor guy. His balls must be in his front pockets now. He's pretending that spill was nothing, but now, oh yeah buddy, sit down on that curb. No, no one knows you're about to throw up and now infertile. Just tying your shoe, that's right."
Then, we can't resist. We crack up to no end.
"That's great, we're laughing, and that man's turning soprano," she sings out between laughs.
"You just don't see that everyday. I wish I could replay that to his colleagues."
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