Break Is Over (Mimi and The Lobster Killer)

I was lost.
Twice.
Well.....actually three times.

"There were a few flaws in this plan," said my date for New Year's Eve.
Duh.

He was talking about "The Romantic Lobster That Wouldn't Die"

I was thinking traffic.

Who told New Yorkers they could drive? Who planned this roadway? What were they thinking?!! It would be faster to lift people into helicopters and fly them across Manhattan than try to drive through the lower level of the George Washington Bridge.

That's why I decided to take the scenic route home.
Who knew one silly little missed exit would result in such adventure? There were more than a few flaws in this plan Mr-Lobster-Killer; I was not wearing my pencil skirt.

It was a sad day in New York City.

A beady-eyed horn-blowing driver from New Jersey steered me straight into the left lane and before I knew it I was sailing into Queens and reading Albany exits. 'Isn't that NORTH?' I said to myself. I realize I set the record last week for getting lost in the same town more times than Gidget but at least I had sense enough to know I was driving toward the wrong end of the axis.

In fact, my axis was in trouble.

I kept thinking I'd come back around to the George Washington Memorial sometime....In a circle I went.....honking my horn and changing my shoes through the Bronx. The BRONX??! How did I get here?

Cell phones are wonderful things.

"You can't be in the Bronx and in Queens at the same time, Mimi. That's impossible," said the seafood chef.

"But that's what the sign said! Aren't you paying attention?!"

"That's YOUR problem, dear. I'm just trying to be the voice of sanity."

Somebody had to be.

Hoooonnnnnkkkkkkkkkkkk!! Get OUT of my way. Blue Eyes said I'm in a make-believe city.

I need to find another lane. Any lane. And fast.

Sharp right exit. Speed limit is and I have yet another run in my pantyhose.

That's what I get for trying to drive with one foot out the window while I dial my therapist.
If I was going to get stuck on the GW again, I needed to have matching accessories ready for the event. I know I packed strawberry pink faux paus in my overnite bag. You never know who might be watching.

A sigh of relief.
I see a phallic symbol ahead.
That's always a good sign.

"Never mind, Baby Cakes, I've found my way out of this purgatory. I see a bridge!"


"What color is it, Mimi?"

My glasses had flown into the backseat about the same time the Mapquest printout went out the window. Can I help it if it got stuck to my toenail polish? If not for a kindly trucker with a big grin on his face who dismantled it for me as we stopped for the light, I'd still be somewhere in the Lincoln Tunnel. We had martinis, exchanged phone numbers and shared the near-death experience we were having. It was a moment.

"MIMI! Are you there?"
Hiccup.

"Yes, Sexy-Guy, I'm here."

"What color is the bridge?!!"

"What bridge?"

Sounds of pouring liquor on rocks and muttering under breath......Bye-bye trucker-man....Sigh...It was a nice way to spend my last moments on earth. What did you say? I gave you a disconnected number? Oh. Sorry about that. I just wanted a brief fling on the bridge, that's all. Me flinging myself over the edge. Nothing serious. You understand, right? I'm on the phone with Prince Charming at the moment anyway. He's trying to calm me down.

The pouring continues. I realize it is Prince who is drinking. Vodka. Lots of vodka.

"I don't see a bridge anymore," I say to the exhausted man on the other end of the phone, "I'm in a tunnel."

Trust me. You do not want me to repeat what he said.
It's unrepeatable. Even in New York.

"OK, sweetheart. Let's go through this alphabetically. Mimi.....think. Which- President's -name --was ---on-- the --tunnel? " he slurrily asked.

"I do not have time to play Jeopardy with you right now!"

Sigh.
My makeup was gone, I was out of cappuccino and his questions were really beginning to irritate me. Presidents......Presidents......Big Bush. Little Bush. Buchanan. Bon Jovi. John Wilkes Booth......WHICH ONE does he mean? I have to at least pretend I know.

"Mims! Give me a name!"

"How should I know??! It's dark in here for Heaven's sake."

"Take OFF your sunglasses."

Damn. Damn. Damn. Nobody said anything about changing accessories in here. That was not on the map. I'm so unprepared.

Oh.
That helps.

Nice. I like it in here. An underground kaleidoscope. Nicely decorated with reflective golden lanterns. No oncoming traffic. No rude hand signs stuck out car windows. Middle Eastern flare, Moroccan detail, warm colors.

I was safe. It was peaceful. Maybe my guy wouldn't notice I stopped talking.
I didn't start crying until I heard the roar. Dialing.

"Yes, dear?"

"Are there supposed to be airplanes in the tunnel?"

Here's your sign.

It said LaGuardia.

"Babe! I don't remember a president with that name.
That's Italian, isn't it?"........

Sweet guy? Did you hear me? Please put down your glass.
I can't find Manhattan."

"What do you see, Mimi?" I heard a weary voice say.

"There! I see it!"

"That-a-girl! Now tell me. Slooowwlly.......What do you see?"

"Dunkin' Donuts."
"That's helpful," he said.

"But I need coffee, polish remover, and change!"

"I would be lying if I understood what you just said," he mused, with that why-must-I-ask-tone-of-voice. 
And yet he asked.

"Why do you need change?"

"I promised the toll lady I'd be back with the right amount of quarters and she said something really sweet back to me. She even gestured and......"

"Mimi! Forget about the toll.......Toll? Toll! Now....think Mimi......think hard. WHERE did you go through the toll booth? "

"Are we playing the President's game again? Because if we are I'm really tired and not in the mood. It's almost sunset now."



"Wish you were here."
"Mimi, you've been in New York City since 6am. It's time to come in for a landing and I'm out of vodka."

"OK. OK. I'll try to think.......but can I get my donut first?"

I slid into a fast-paced glaze shop and ordered chocolate covered donut holes (extra napkins) and French Vanilla mocha lite with sprinkles on top. "Where am I?" I asked. "I think I'm lost."

A man literally shouted over the top of three people standing in line between us that I should find the Whitestone Bridge exit #678 and follow it to the GW Bridge to 95 South.

The man to the left of me started shouting from the other side, "She can't do THAT.....She's going the wrong direction. Don't tell her to do that." And then turning to me,

"Don't do that, ma'am. Do you know you're going the wrong way?"

I was not amused.

By this time I knew Sultry Blue Eyes in New England must be flipping through his Rolodex looking for potential candidates for next year's holiday date. Nobody wants a ditz. I can't even find my way out of a tunnel. I gauge success based on the length of my skirt on any given day and run screaming from half-dead lobster tails in boiling water. And why is it illegal to backup in a toll lane?

Who would want a Pencil Skirt like me?

I got back in the car.

Up ahead I see a famous landmark.
It's Shea Stadium.

Might as well 'make lemonade' out of this adventure, I thought. I'll drive by and take a picture. It's a round building.

Maybe I won't get lost in there.
And I can always find another boyfriend.

Someone closer to home this time. I won't have to tell him about this. Ever. And I don't plan on telling Handsome-Guy-With-The-Patience-Of-Job about the stadium visit. He wouldn't understand.
Maybe, if I hurry, I'll be home by dawn.

Five hours later I pulled into a gas station an hour from my hometown. Exhausted and ready to put this adventure to rest, I picked up the phone to call my sister and let her know I was home.

"Hey beautiful," a voice chimed in the speaker just as I got ready to dial. "Are you home yet?"

Sigh.
"Almost, Handsome" I said. "Thank you for helping me find my way."

"You're welcome. You get some sleep. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

I thought, I'll be better prepared to accept his break-up lines tomorrow when I've had time to unwind a bit. "Sure. Talk to you soon."

"Just one more thing, Mimi."
"Yes?"

"You left your earrings on the counter. I'll......"


"Just drop them in the mail for me, will you? I hope you don't mind." Click.

I walked in the house and dropped my bags on the floor. No sense crying over lost rhinestones. I checked my messages. GREAT, I thought. A telemarketer! At this time of day! Just leave me alone. I'll call tomorrow.

"We just need to confirm, ma'am. You have a package at the post office. Would you sign for this please?"

I hope he liked the earrings as much as I enjoyed wearing them for him, I thought. How nice of him to send them so soon.

Out fell a rectangular ticket with a note attached:
"Dear Mimi. Your earrings will be waiting on the counter - right beside my new lobster pots. In New England. Whenever you're ready. "

Thanks, Handsome Guy.......And by the way, can I get arrested for driving through the toll booth without paying?

Don't push your luck, Mimi.
Just get on the plane.