Photo Op

I stopped into one of those been-around-forever, family-owned-and-operated-since-the-beginning-of-time kinda places to order a couple of Italian heros.

Not the De Niro-hero….the edible kind.

I’m standing there…waiting for my order to be ready…and I’m staring at this huge wall with an indescribable amount of helter-skelter, mismatched-framed photos. All different shapes and sizes.

“You say they’re indescribable…but you’ll describe them anyway, won’t you?” asks my IV, the ever-opinionated Clinton Kelly.

Kathryn: “Well, you were standing right there. You saw them…are you saying you have no comment? ‘Cause you seem to have quite the opinion at the time of the alleged wall-inspection.”

CK: “It wasn’t much of an inspection…and there was nothing “alleged” about it. It was more like a roast. I couldn’t help myself.”

K: “I know, right?? What was the worst one, do you think?”

CK: (Rolls eyes, folds arms, sits back in chair) “How much time have we got?”

K: “About 300 words. Go.”

CK: “I would have to go with the 11X14 shot of the Bedazzled-Bride sitting in the back seat of the white Chevrolet convertible with the train of her dress puffed and trailed so that it covered the entire rear portion of the automobile and at least a five-foot perimeter of the grass as well. You?”

K: “Wow. That one’s gonna be tough to beat. I’m gonna have to go with the 1950’s shot of the lady with the pointy glasses standing in front of that….what was it?...a teacup collection?...in a glass display cabinet-thingie holding a baby with a long, flowy white dress that looked suspiciously like my Aunt Edith’s lace tablecloth from every Easter I can remember in Hoboken.”

CK: “Tablecloth….or dining room curtain?”

K: “Does it really matter? Take your pick. There had to be a hundred photos on that wall and there was no rhyme or reason to any of it. Weddings, christenings, birthdays. What was with all the long, flowy things? And I do believe there was a cannoli in every shot.”

CK: “Nah. You were just hungry. It looked like most of the photos were at least 15 years old. If you looked really hard, you could see some repetition of characters…like that guy who looked like Tony Sirico. Did you notice he never smiled? Not one time.”

K: “Who? I kept thinking that if they ever took those pictures down, there’d be these weird, lopsided rectangles of all different sizes…and what would they do if somebody got divorced?”

CK: “You don’t get divorced. You just disappear one day.” (Ominous music plays in background)

K: “Hey! How’d you get that ominous music to play in the background?”

C: “You don’t question. We Italians have our ways.”

K: “I thought your people were from New Zealand.”

C: “We New Zealanders have our ways. Let’s go.”

K: “Now I want a cannoli.”