Friday, November 3, 2017

Tally And Ho, Together At Last

Mom asked me if I had hot water for my shower. I said I did.

"Oh, but I didn't have any hot water for mine. We'll need to tell them at the desk."

I went into the bathroom. It was a typical tres moderne hotel shower with a glass door and leprechaun-shaped nozzle for your hoo-hah.

"Are you sure, Mom?"

The handle on the left was to toggle between the shower head and the wand, while the right was for temperature. There was a red dot above, a blue dot below. I fiddled. Hot water rained.

"No, it's working."

"Oh! I thought the left handle was the hot and the right handle was the cold! I'm so glad we didn't tell the desk about this!"

"Have you been taking cold showers this whole week??"

"I didn't know!"

We left for Westminster Abbey, to see it a second time since the first was spent mostly in the ER. This was our last day and last chance for Mom to take an inspiring photograph of me in London. Something for the fans. And for Rita Ora, whoever the hell that is.

I gave Mom my shitty Vodaphone that I had to buy since my Yank one wouldn't work.

"Okay, I'm going to stand over there," I said. "Just press the camera thingy there."

"But I have my phone."

"Yes, but I want it on my phone. And press the button on it. See that button?"

"Yes. Is it on my phone?"

"No! It's my phone. I want you take it on my phone. You see?"

"Oh, okay."

"Mom, why are you taking out your phone?"

"To take your picture!"

"NO! I want you to take it with my phone. To sum up: your phone, no. My phone, yes."

"Got it."

"Where are you putting my phone?"

"So I can take your picture....?"

"Here..."

"Why are you taking my phone??"

"Just... Get me framed up. I'll be standing over there. Mom? Okay?"


"No, that's your... thumb(?). Let's try again."


"Okay, less thumb in this one..."


"Hmm. Let's try again."


"The sidewalk is breathtaking, isn't it?"


"Okay. Partial credit. (Tired.
So very tired.)"

Mom liked to stop and gaze at things. People would be rushing around her, and Mom would just be gazing. A slight smile playing about her lips. Just gazing at whatever. She looked a bit beatific. Or lost.

"Come on, Mom," said her mean son (me). "This isn't Being There, and you are not the wise fool. Let's get a taxi."

We went to a place in Picadilly and had breakfast. Mom was very pleased with the quantity of butter on her toast.

"That's the sign of class," she said. She held up her piece of toast: it glistened like a newborn foal in the moonlight. "Not every place puts enough butter on their toast."

"Mm! I take it back. You really are a bit like Peter Sellers."

And so, as the credits rolled, we walked across the ocean back to the States. The End.

A pair of comedians. Tally ho!

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