Josh picked me up outside my apartment in his police model sedan.
"Are you practicing to be a Zeyde already? You are only 36, correct?"
But really, I am 33 and have never owned a car, so who am I to judge?
He greeted me with a kiss. I proudly handed him a birthday card with the message written in Hebrew. I didn't know I still had it in me, but the hebrew cursive just flowed. My hebrew school teacher would have been even more impressed than Josh was.
We drove down a deserted Yonge Street, the line that runs from the north suburbs, south to the downtown core, dividing the city in half. He lit a cigarette.
"Seriously? You are going to do this to me again?"
"Is it really funny to smoke cigarettes in a confined space with an ex-smoker?"
"The window is open."
"Still, I am inhaling smoke. You realize your killing me." I stuck my head out the window like a golden retriever, only not to feel the wind in my...fur.
He was not impressed.
We arrived at the theatre to see Kite Runner. I treated us to VIP tickets, which turned out to be not nearly as cool as I expected, attracting mostly the octogenarian set. It was a small theatre and the heat was on too high. Partway through the film I left to go to the washroom. When I came back I realized how stuffy the room was, smelling of an odd combination of drakar noir and farts. And yet the movie made it all worthwile.
For dinner we went to Chinatown and ate Vietnemese pho, which reminded me of the days when we used to go to chinatown after the bars closed. It would be 3 AM and we would order, "cold tea" and eat entire drunken meals. I wonder if they still serve cold tea anywhere. These days I'm lucky if Josh will leave the suburbs let alone stay out late. Tonight we had ordinary hot tea and I ordered rare beef pho with tons of chili sauce. It was delicious as always.
Now I'm home and packing for London. The Queen [but mainly my sister] is awaiting my arrival. Cheerio.
Happy Christmas as they say in England. Happy New Year too. May the new year bring us all much happiness.