Thinking Out Loud

By Gerard Meister

The Gospel

Recently, I popped into a Starbucks for a decaf Espresso one evening and met one of my readers sipping a tall, frothy drink. "That nifty looking concoction probably cost as much as my first car, heh - heh" I said to her smilingly, in an effort to break the ice, but she continued sipping in silence. "It was a '33 Chevy - four doors," I rambled on, trying to dig myself out of the verbal sinkhole I was falling into.

"How come you have so many incredible experiences?" she suddenly asked, as if she awoke one morning and found me standing in the middle of her living room composing a column. "Every week it seems that something weird is going on in your life. How's that possible? Can you explain that to me," she mused.

"I don't know what to say," I replied, "because everything I write about is true; inexplicable maybe, but true."

That seemed to get her dander up. "Okay", she said, "I want you to tell me right now something that happened to you that's inexplicable, and I guarantee that I'll explain it. Try me."

"Okay, you're on," I said. "See what you make of this:

We were only married a couple of months when my wife and I bought tickets to a Broadway show. Because parking downtown in Manhattan would have cost five bucks (if not more) we decided to take the subway. But there was a catch, Marilyn couldn't locate her white gloves and was not about to be caught dead on a Saturday night in the subway, let alone Times Square, without gloves. "It's just not done," she said to me so forcefully that I ran downstairs and bought her a pair of gloves.

"I hope it's worth it, " I said, "I had to spend three bucks for the gloves - more than a ticket cost - so don't lose them." I can't remember anything about the show we saw, but I'll never forget how carefully my wife peeled off the gloves and clutched them on her lap as we settled into our seats."

"Wait, don't tell me," my audience of one, interjected. "She lost a glove!"

"No," I shot back. "She ………"

"Wait, don't tell me, don't tell me," she persisted. "She lost both gloves, right?"

"Close, but no cigar," I said. "When we got home she was still clutching the gloves, only to find that there were three white gloves in her grasp."

Her eyes narrowed for a minute as she mulled this over. "You're putting me on, right?" she asked.

"No," it's the gospel, honest," I replied. "To this day, my wife and I wonder how the heck it happened."

"Gee," she said, earnestly "Now I really don't know what to think. Maybe you should write a column about it."

"Good idea, I'll think about it."