the other evening i was on my way downstairs to catch a ride to a dinner outing and i happened to be about three paces ahead of a trio of young men in their very (very) early 20s who were going through their sort of "who's who" of the women they knew name by name; one was way too old, another was too much, and so on. but then there was francesca. ah, francesca.
"dude, francesca is totally like unaware," says one.
"yeah, she's about as aware of things as helen keller
," cracked another.
i'm not sure what struck me as stranger (sadder? funnier?)--that 20-something boys discussing babes bring a 19th century woman who learned to communicate despite being deaf and blind since infancy into the mix, or the fact that just two days earlier i'd spent a portion of my fourth of july i-don't-give-a-fuck-abration in bed bawling over the miracle worker
dinner was lovely, thanks.