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Big City Blues "Nothing is so simple that it cannot
be misunderstood." From Norwich to Mount Pleasant, we plied pleasurable backroads. We were on our way to Etobicoke, where our friend, Michelle, lived. I had phoned her a couple of times and she was expecting us. But, for some reason, I had a bad feeling in my gut. Around 3 pm, our quiet road turned into a vehicular homicide route. By 5 pm, 'rush hour' traffic was going full throttle, zooming hither and thither - no one getting anywhere fast. The road we were trying to cycle wasn't much wider than two cars. On more than one occasion we narrowly avoided becoming road pizza. We arrived, in the dark, outside Michelle's high-rise tower. Past frazzled, past exhausted, we looked forward to a quiet retreat. A note protruded from a corner of the apartment's buzzer. It was for us. My lips pursed, like just before one recalls something bad. "Oh, oh," I said, gingerly removing the note from its envelope. "Hi Guys!" it began, cheerily enough. "Gone to look at a new apartment. Maybe we can meet tomorrow? Love, Michelle." Ooooo. Somehow, in my phone calls, I hadn't made it clear we wanted to stay overnight. "Reading between the lines," I grimaced, "it appears she doesn't expect us to be staying with her." I sighed and pinched my lip, puzzled how I had managed to screw up something so simple. "Ironic," Sharon mumbled. "We've travelled 5,000 kilometres without much concern about where we'd be sleeping. Then, at a friend's, we're worried we don't have a place." In the end, everything worked out all right. We just hung around until Michelle showed up and then asked her point-blank. "Sure!" she exclaimed happily. "I just assumed you'd be staying at Glynn's (her brother's). I didn't think you'd want to stay with me, because I don't have an extra bed." We assured her the floor would be perfectly fine. And it was. |
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