The red hand at crosswalks is merely a suggestion. Walking several blocks to Climate Pledge Arena, I blow through them with the ease of a hardened hooker.
As a Pacific Northwesterner, I know I should wait, but out East, they don’t, and since I’m a small-town girl that broke out, the rules have changed.
All that hurrying helps to stop and smell the roses, so to speak. The roses aren’t actually blooming; it’s the tulips, hyacinths, and lavender that have sprung forth overnight that have my attention.
It’s the first intermission, and my mind is nothing but crickets.
After attending an amateur hockey game Friday then this one the difference in the theatrics and flair, is like seeing an Elton John concert immediately following your niece’s first recital.
But the real question is, when will my precious head hit the pillow?
The answer? Earlier than expected! An early workday tomorrow and alleviating grandparents of sitting duties had us leaving a period early.
Reading the comparison of my jaywalking to a “hardened hooker,” Dave didn’t laugh. But I decided to gamble on it anyway.
After a quick jet across yet another crosswalk, I told Dave, “Just like a hardened hooker, hey?”
But this time, he laughed! And I was like, what the hell? “I like a good call back,” he said with a shrug.
There you have it, my audience of one.
Love, Jaclynn, aka The Jaywalking Gigolo
Going On 40 