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About the author:
Descended from old English money, Vidicon was raised by spiny echidnas in the mountainous rainforests of the North American Southeast. Lured back to society by time-traveling gray/reptiloid alien hybrids posing as renegade Jesuits, he has managed to maintain his outsider's perspective and an appetite for crunchy insects. Today, Vidicon is a world-class synchronicity surfer and an unlicensed quantum mechanic. He has a fourth-degree black belt in weird.
About his bi-weekly column:
Tales from the Third Lobe are the unfocused meanderings of the World's Smartest Moron. Topics range widely over the sciences, religion, philosophy, technology, modern culture, mysticism, Vidicon's personal history and viewpoints, and whatever pissed him off in the media last week.
View all articles by Laszlo Q. V. St-J. "Vidicon" Xalieri, 2HC Columnist...
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The Empress's New Boots: A parable for older children
She stands on tiptoe because of the way it makes her calves look. Toes splay just a tad on the gritty flooring of the boutique. She twists her legs this way and that, admiring them in the uptilted mirror.
"They're marvelous!" she exclaims. "I'll take them. How much?"
The sales attentdant's brow wrinkles. "Ummm...."
"Nevermind. You have my account on file. Just take care of it."
A couple of hesitant fingers point in the direction of the tastefully distant fluorescent lighting. "But, ma'am...."
"I have to go show these off! I'll just wear them out."
"As you say, ma'am...."
She pivots again in front of the mirror, admiring the shape of her calves, and totters in the direction of the door. She turns one last time. "The soles are a little thin...."
"... You could say that."
"But they're wonderfully cool for this hot weather we're having. They don't trap perspiration at all."
"And they never will. Um."
And the Empress traipses out the door in her new boots.
Broken glass. Chewing gum. Dog shit. Stubbed toes. Puddles of God-knows-what. All the things that new boots are supposed to protect you from. None of it matters if it makes you look good and feel sexy.
So she strikes up a conversation with the homeless man at the bus stop.
"They'll be great for dancing in."
He ogles her legs. Especially her calves. "You got great legs for dancin'. Is that where you headed now?"
She sighs happily. "Maybe later tonight, or maybe tomorrow night.... I need to break these in first."
"Yeah, you do that. Break a leg."
"Thanks, darling," she closes as she climbs onto the bus.
As the bus pulls away, the homeless guy mutters to the bottle in his pocket, "Din' wanna say, but I got me a pair just like that at my beach house in Jersey."
On the bus she notices people staring, but she doesn't mind. That's what she bought the boots for, after all. Then, from the bus to the train station, a few more stares and an amateur attempt at a wolf whistle. She doesn't meet anyone's eyes, but she beams to herself.
As she moves to go into one of the public restrooms at the train station, an old woman tugs at her arm to stop her. She turns brightly, but businesslike, to look at her. "Yes?"
"You sure you wanna go in there?" She gestures down at the Empress's new boots. "With..."
She pats the old lady's arm. "These old things? I'm sure they can take it." She smiles, disengages, and tippy-toes on in.
The floor is a tad slimy, but she gets by.
It's a long wait for the train and the platform is very crowded. It seems to her that several men and even a couple women maneuver their way through the crowd just to stand nearer to her. She catches a few eyes pretending not to look, but she can tell. She can tell.
She is jostled quite a bit boarding the train, but she takes special care and no one steps on her feet. As the train moves farther uptown, the crowd disperses. One or two of the people nearer to her seem reluctant to leave, and most take one last look as they get off the train. Eventually, though, she gets a seat. The woman across the car from her emanates cold jealousy and refuses to even look in her direction.
She plays the game where you cross your legs and uncross them when someone else, picked at random, does the opposite. This passes the time for a while, and then a woman sits next to her who doesn't seem to be shy at all about giving her the once-over. The Empress smiles at her with a certain amount of shyness of her own.
The woman is the first to speak. "I, umm ... I really dig your outfit. Do you mind if I ask where you do your shopping?"
The Empress, ordinarily full of poise and outgoing charm, actually blushes.
"Oh, heh, umm," she titters nervously. "Here and there. I look for sales at Bloomingdales, but they're out of my range most of the time. There are a few boutiques here and there near the Museum Mile, and a thrift store over by the Village.... I try not to spend a lot."
"Well. You do a fine job." She smiles at the Empress, who postively glows.
A moment later, full of twinkles and smiles, she adds, "How the hell long did it take you to find boots to go with that outfit?"
[*]
Vidicon, at least, has pants on. |
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