Yesterday, I was sitting outside the laundromat, as one does when it's sweltering and crowded inside. Reading some Sophocles for class, I had my head down, and heard a car pulling up, blasting Beyonce's latest hit. I looked up and saw what may be the cutest thing in the world:
The little boy pulled to a stop, yelled into the laundromat, "Mommy! Mommy, we're here!" and opened his car door before running inside, leaving his little sister in the car, crying. I thought the adorable would kill me, but it only got cuter. Soon, a group of little kids, none older than six or seven, had gathered around the car, asking the same questions I've seen adults ask at those Classic Car Cruises they have in our McDonald's parking lots on Thursday nights in the summer. "What kind of a car is that?" "How does it run?" "Can I drive it?"
Jill and I had a similar car when we were growing up, but I'm pretty sure that rolling up on a city street in it makes it about a million times more awesome than going up and down your driveway (which was still really awesome). This, along with a little kid I saw watching a cockroach crawl down the sidewalk, has made me decide that the only way to really write about New York City is through the lens of Little City Boy, my newest character. I'm pretty sure he has a balloon. Just saying.
So. Much. Cute.
Other than that, the weekend was pretty wonderful. I'm sure you'll be shocked to hear our super never came back, but I did get some work done, do a ton of laundry, go to the farmer's market (finally!) manage to get in a good run (though, my, isn't it frustrating to start again after a long absence?!), and drink at more bars in two days than I normally would in two months (a total of ten different places - you can see my thoughts on each one over at Yelp). Plus, Roger hung our lamp up, so we're getting dangerously close to finished in the living room. Overall, I'd say it was a pretty-successful, very laid-back, much-needed weekend.