I had the cold first. Then, I went over to Sophia to get some TLC, and got her sick. So, by the end of the week, we were both miserable.
Friday, I took some pills and ventured out, mostly because I was excited to meet two bloggers coming to town from San Francisco — Kristy of She Just Walks Around With It and Ish of The Original Pawns of Comedy. I really enjoyed meeting them and talking about blogging, writing, comedy, and all sorts of things. We had lunch in Hermosa Beach and then took a walk on the beach right up to the waves.
Being with people new to the area helped me look at LA in a new way. I complain about living in Los Angeles a lot, but there is something to be said for living right by the beach, even if I sometimes feel like a fish-out-of-water in the beach culture — with the surfer dudes, the professional volleyball girls, and the ubiquitous fish tacos.
On Saturday, Sophia and I, still under the weather, spent most of the day inside, watching TV. We especially enjoyed watching old game shows on the Game Show Network. The highlight of the day was "The Newlywed Game," especially when Bob Eubanks asked the "wives" this question:
"Which of the following game show titles best describes your husband’s behavior lately in the whoopie department?"
B) Make Me Laugh
C) Beat the Clock
I thought I would have some fun with Sophia and ask her to play along.
"So, what’s your answer?"
"Whoopie meaning sex, right?"
"Yes. So, which game show title best describes your husband’s behavior? Concentration? Make Me Laugh? Or Beat the Clock?"
"I never heard of any of those shows."
"They’re old shows. Just pick one."
"I don’t know them. Can I pick one I do know?"
"Wheel of Fortune."
"Wheel of Fortune doesn’t make sense."
"Who Wants to be a Millionaire?"
"Millionaire doesn’t really work either. It only works if it’s a double entendre."
"Millionaire could be a double entendre. Like "My husband is worth a million bucks in the sack, or should I phone a friend?.""
"But it’s supposed to be funny. It should be something making fun of the man’s inadequacy."
"Ok, if you insist. How about, "My husband’s lovemaking is so blah, that every time we make whoopie, there’s a "Family Feud."" That’s not bad. Or my husband is so boring in the bedroom, he’s the ultimate "Hollywood Square." Or "Let’s just say that when I make whoopie with my husband, the words "Weakest Link" always come to mind." Better now?"
"OK, OK, I get it. Let’s watch something else."
On Sunday, Sophia and I spent most of the day like Saturday — watching TV.
At some point, I got lustful feelings and tried to get flirty with the sniffling Sophia, who responded by hitting me in the head with a tissue box. Sophia promptly fell asleep and I started watching one of those poker shows on TV.
It was a high-stakes tournament going on at the Aviation Club in Paris. There was a lot of excitement in the air. As the players battled each other with their cards and chips, some ordered drinks from an attractive waitress. Not that this was unusual for a casino. But I was very surprised when one player asked to be brought a croissant.
How French I thought! He’s playing for a million dollars, but still has time for a croissant! I’ve always been fascinated by the French. Their culture. Their art. Their wine. Their beautiful woman. My all-time favorite movie director is Frenchman Eric Rohmer. One of my greatest joys with this blog is that I actually have readers in France. I’m not sure how they found me, but I’m glad they did. Like a lot of Americans, I was pissed at the French government’s siding with the Iraqis a couple of years ago, but I never went so far as to change the name of my French toast to Freedom toast.
And what is more French than a croissant?
Suddenly, my lustful feelings became focused on French baked goods. I had a deep yearning for a croissant that just had to be satisfied. I threw on my clothes and headed for the supermarket.
But Vons Supermarket proved to be a big disappointment. Their store brand of croissants looked awful. A true croissant is much like a perfect bagel — there must be a perfectly modulated juxtaposition between the toughness of the exterior and the softness of the interior. Vons Supermarket’s croissants looked like cut pieces of cardboard.
But now I had a problem? Where the hell am I going to find a good croissant in Redondo Beach — where Tito’s Taco Shack is considered fine cuisine? Luckily, I was able to find a foodie friend at home, who directed me to a bakery in Hermosa Beach.
An hour later, I returned home, holding a bag with two croissants, one for me and one for Sophia. I thought about the intense pleasure that eating this croissant would give me — like a night of passion in Paris with the most beautiful French woman.
"Why do you go out for croissants?" asked Sophia.
"It was like inspiration. I heard player in a poker tournament in Paris ask to be brought a croissant."
"No one asks for a croissant in the middle of a poker tournament."
"In France, they do. You just don’t understand the French. They have a lust for life. When they want a croissant, they get a croissant."
"Let me see."
The game was still on Sophia’s Tivo. She zoomed back to the exact moment I was talking about. She started laughing.
"He didn’t say "croissant!"" said Sophia, who happens to speak French. "He said "troi cents!" He was asking another player if he had "troi cents" — three hundred [thousand] in chips."
"Oh," I said, feeling like an idiot.
We ate the croissants anyway. Sophia loved hers, but it just wasn’t the same for me.