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“No,” she said.
But then we thought for a moment, and laughed. We realized that all of this made perfect sense. Here’s the logic in The World According to Missy:
Makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? See? It’s not her; it’s us. Marianne and I were in a local diner on a July day that was setting records for Long Island heat. We could have used winter coats as we ate our meal; it was that cold at our table. When we were paying the bill at the counter next to the front door, the owner of the diner asked us if everything had been okay. “Pretty cold at our table,” Marianne said. “You could chill meat back there.”
“You keep your thermostats up here by the front door?” I said. “No wonder it’s so cold back there in your diner. The thermostats are supposed to be where the people are, not up here by the front door where the hot air blows in.” The owner smiled at me and shook his head slowly, as if I were the dopiest man to ever eat rice pudding. “If I put thermostats back there,” he said, “then everybody touch. Wife touch. Son touch. Daughter touch. Customer touch. Nobody ever happy with temperature. Everybody complain. Like you! I put thermostats her in front, only Gus touch!” He smacked himself on the chest with a meaty palm and smiled like the King of Pancakes.
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“I’m going to murder your little sister,” I said.
The owner squinted at one of the seven thermostats that were on the wall behind the counter, and right next to the door that kept opening and closing as customers came and went. He shrugged. “Seventy-two degrees,” he said. “Comfortable.”| Dan Holohan - [Intro] | [Email] | [Website] |
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