I was walking the dog this morning in my Wellesley sweatshirt. She went to the edge of the curb to take a dump when some moron in a van almost runs over her while trying to parallel park into his spot. To be fair, the dog was pooping in the street. But damn, man, I can't move my dog when she's in the middle of pinching one off! She has to finish her business!
He got out of his van, this big hired-goon-looking Italian guy and his dad (straight out of central casting for "The Sopranos") and I thought he was going to lay into me, "what the hell are you doing with your dog behind my car, why not move out of the way, jackass," blah blah blah. But instead:
DUDE
You went to Wellesley?
MICHELLE
Yes.
DUDE
That's the women's school?
MICHELLE
Yes.
DUDE
One of the Seven Sisters?
MICHELLE
Yes.
DUDE
Oh. (Walks away.)
MICHELLE'S INNER MONOLOGUE
Wow, that conversation went a totally different direction from what I'd expected.
COOPER
(Licking another dog's poo)
How did he know that much about Wellesley? Maybe he had just watched "Mona Lisa Smile" on DVD. Maybe he cried at the sad parts.
Currently reading: My patient's tracing on telemetry.
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