I have to call someone I know will appreciate this.
“Mary!”
“Herrow,” she says.
I am hurrying from work, heading toward the bus stop,
heels clicking on the marble, yoga bag bouncing. I have stuffed my lunch bag into my purse,
and I adjust it as it slips off my shoulder.“I just witnessed something that, if I could reach it right now, would
leave me scratching my head.”
“Oooooh,” Mary says mildly.“Tell me.”
I push through the front doors, merge into the foot
traffic on the sidewalk.The concrete is
wet, the skies a dark, murky soup.“Well,” I say, “you know the little conversation areas set up in the
lobby of the City Center?”
“I am,” Mary says, “going to have to take your word for
it.”
“Do,” I say.“I
will never lie to you.”
“Good to know,” she says.
I am at the lights, waiting to cross the street.A woman with bright purple hair smiles at me,
and I smile back.
“I’m leaving the elevator bank, passing this leather
couch over there, and there’s this guy sitting there, right?Good-looking guy, bright blue tee-shirt, and
he’s got his cell phone out, and you know what he’s doing?”
“Oh, Holy Hannah,” Mary intones.
I cross the street.Just ahead, my bus is third in line.
I move the phone from one ear to the other.“He’s taking a picture of his armpit.”
Mary chokes, then laughs, the sound of drunken elves
ransacking an unlocked car.“He’s what?”
“The guy is taking a picture of his armpit!”Standing in line for the bus now, the woman
in front of me turns around, narrows her eyes at me.Did I
just say what she thought I said?
“That’s right,” I say.“He’s got his arm up, the sleeve pulled aside, and he’s taking a picture
of his armpit, right there in the lobby.He sees me see him, gets this super weird look on his face.I don’t know what to say, what kind of
expression to have on my face, nothing.”
I wave my bus pass in front of the doohickey and move to
the back.
“So what did you do?”
“What could I do?I looked away.”
“Very Minnesotan,” Mary nods.
“Mmm,” I say.I
sit down, adjust my purse and bag on my lap.“So is it?”
“What,” Mary says, “a thing?Are you asking me if taking a selfie of your
armpit is a thing now?”
“Right,” I say.“That’s my question to you.”
“Well,” Mary says, chuckling, “since Madonna took a
picture of her armpit at the end of
March, I believe it’s trending.”And
with that, Mary starts to laugh. A woman known to go weak in the knees and fall over in the throes of enjoyment, I listen for what is sure to come next, and I am not disappointed.
There is the sound of her falling off her chair.
“Oh, God,” she says, between breaths. I picture her laying on her back in the center of her kitchen floor. “Oh, God.It’s trending, Pearl.I’m pretty sure this armpit thing is” – there
is a muffled sound, possibly of Mary wiping the tears from her eyes – “this
whole thing is trending.”
I start to laugh as well. Mary and I, raised in a time where recalcitrant cassette tapes were rewound with the eraser-ends of pencils and in a world were potpourri was pronounced "pot purry", do enjoy these modern times.
I look around suddenly, realizing that I'm the woman on the bus talking about someone else having taken a picture of their
armpit.
“You know -- and say -- the weirdest things,” I say.“I gotta go.I’ll talk to you later.”
“Hey,” Mary says, grinning.“Hey.”
“What?”
“Don’t send me any pictures tonight.”
“I won’t.”