amélieamélieamélieamélie

last night, the lovely maryam and i met up at MoMA for dessert and to catch a showing of le fabuleux destin d'amélie poulain. as we were standing outside, about to go in to get tickets, a tiny old man ran up to us and said, "is it amélie?" and maryam said, yes. she and i turned to go through the (revolving door) to get our tickets. maryam entered her section of the door and the old man looked at me, decided i wasn't moving fast enough and cut in front of me.

and slipped into maryam's compartment of the revolving door, pushing faster, faster, all the while practically shouting, "amélieamélieamélieamélieamélieamélie!"

and i thought i had revolving door phobia before. the door was going so fast, i thought for sure i'd have to make an additional circuit or two before it slowed down enough that i wouldn't worry about the structural integrity of my anklebones. but i'm sure that's nothing compared to the trauma maryam suffered that fateful eve.

i've known her for 14 years and never felt the need to share a compartment in a revolving door with her.

random: i'm sure you're curious. we went to the modern next door and had buttermilk panna cotta. it was quite lovely. and yes, i love amélie as much now as i did the first time. and it IS better to help people than garden gnomes.