It's hard to be as cultured and classy as we are. After spending parts of this afternoon in the National Gallery of Art and the Natural History Museum, I'm fairly convinced that the baby we've got brewing is a little Renaissance (wo)man who will make Leonardo DaVinci look like Ralph Wiggum (yes, you non-Simpsons watchers, Ralph's the little cartoon paste-eater over yonder). After Anna's exhibitions among our Nation's historic treasures, I'm pretty much full to burstin' with pride that our Puck is marinating in someone with the common decency and good sense to protect innocent eyes from smut like this:
and the improvisational skill and manual dexterity to accomplish the likes of this*:
There were more people kicking around these air conditioned marble halls this afternoon than Monet's got paint smears. Moms, dads, kids, sullen teens, grandmas, the whole lot (and almost every one in a tank top!) but not one was doing anything even remotely like this stuff. I mean, look at these people. Show me which one is classier than Anna. (She's the one in brown... without the tusks.)
And yes, I'll pay for that joke for the rest of my life, so I hope you enjoyed it. Please tell her how beautiful and radiant and classy she is and maybe I'll get to meet the child at some point before high school.
In fact I'll do it myself. I'll even give her a medal or five. Something nice from the 16th century or so. Italian, I think. She sure as hell deserves it.
Schedule may get rocky next week as there's no wireless at Saquish. Apologies in advance.
* and yes, Rhode Islanders, that IS the "pregnant pterodactyl" made famous all over South County, but mostly at the Muse on martini night as the opening act for the Gin Monster.
