Things I Thought Only Happened in ’50s Sitcoms

I was supposed to meet at a friend’s house last night, so I stuffed myself into my parka, boots, & gloves and head out. Get to the building at 7:33 & text her so she knows to come down & give me a parking pass…7:37, no word, so I phone & leave a message…7:40, am now convinced my friend is lying in a pool of her own blood in her house…try to be macho and NOT go inside and demand the manager let me into her condo…7:41, pep-talking myself, “Give it ’till 7:43, then it’ll be 10 minutes and you can go talk to the manager.”…7:41.30, having an imaginary fight with manager because he won’t let me into her apartment…7:41.50, now convinced friend is lying dead because she’s been attacked–up internal, imaginary fight with manager…7:42, phone call from friend, who (quite sheepish) says, “Tash? Uh, I’m at your house.”

Spend the night at Montana’s, eating appetizers and trying to figure out which of us is Lucy and which of us is Ethel

 

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