I am visiting in some eastern city and staying with a well-to-do family. I stand on the street in front of their apartment as Hugh Grant arrives, driving a taxi.He accompanies me inside. Apparently, he’s done something careless while drunk and has upset the family. Once inside, however, he is able to quickly charm them into forgiveness. The eldest daughter, I learn, is engaged to be married to him. The mood turns sour again as the family listens solemnly to a recorded phone message in which the daughter tearfully describes how she has been repeatedly wronged in the household. The daughter, who is present, glares at each of us in turn. She declares that she is going to leave. Forever. Her list of grievances includes an action of mine: once, while I was dressed in a white topcoat and had been serving them dinner, I reached for a tray on a counter and accidentally touched her. My deceased friend arrives, now alive and wearing a pink sweater. He has come to try to calm the young lady down and persuade her to stay. He reads aloud her poetry and critiques it, characterizing one work as: "The Trials of SaintAugustine after eating a dandy pizza." The matron of the household suppresses an urge to intervene, quietly expressing her faith in my friend’s diplomatic skills. Unmoved, The daughter turns to leave anyway. She is further annoyed to discover that I have been accidentally sitting on her coat. My friend makes some final, gentle appeals to her literary vanity while she warms up her jeep.
Rowdy’s Dream Blog #21
Hugh Grant And A Deceased Friend In A Pink Sweater
2 min read
