We ate at the Big Sky Cafe this time. We have eaten there before, in fact I have actually eaten crab cakes there with no ill effect. I ordered like a child and had a cheeseburger and a sundae. (Technically a blue cheese cheeseburger with a heirloom tomato and a pecan brittle sundae.)
As I ordered these things, I noticed a woman at the table behind Anne was glaring steadily at me. When the waitress got to them, it was clear I had taken too long to place my order, because we all heard THEY had been WAITING and they had to get to the OPERA. I struggled hard to stay in my seat. I did not go over and suggest that next time they should try Cyrano’s and get the crab cakes with the remoulade sauce.
At the opera proper, I did look about for Salmon Pants, and he was not to be found, but the hunt did require that I look intently at every man there. I would say fifty percent of them looked quite good to me. And as we know, looking at men is how all the nonsense began last summer.
Finally, before we took our seats, we went to the bathroom, and as I was washing my hands there was a hubbub, with women saying, “It’s on me,” and “It came in on my hair. ” Women pointed at my feet and said, “Oh, there it is! Right there!”
A cicada. I stepped on it, wiped it off my shoe with a paper towel, and tossed it in the trash.
One woman said, surprised, “She stomped it!” It was then I realized I probably should have checked first if anyone was Buddhist, or if it was a pet, or if people had bonded with this cicada. Webster Groves might not be down with anti-cicada violence.
Felt good though.