So I was at work today and I got to train somebody. Randy fell out of the blue like a red-haired, mustashioed dishwashing angel. That was nice. We got done early. I got to watch ESPN and get paid for it.

And what of the Scandinavian Princess? I told her she had nice shoes. Then things got busy. I don't think I'll see her again. That's disappointing. Just when I had screwed up the courage to do something, it blew up in my face. How typical. There is a lesson to be learned: I should have acted sooner.

So what would I have done with the Scandinavian Princess?

Its Wednesday night. I give her a call after dinner, maybe about 7:30 or 8. If she's working, she'll be done.

"What's up," ScP?

"Not much. What do you have to say?"

"I'm thinking... that we should go buy some CD's, then go get something to eat, then watch a movie. You liked Zoolander, maybe we can find something else with Ben Stiller. You'd like that."

"Maybe. On Saturday. At 5. Leaving from my house."

"Maybe."

fast forward to saturday

Knockity-knock-knock. The door swings up and the ScP smiles, her big bright genuine and white-teeth-filled-because-she-brushes smile. She gets a gentle knock across the bridge of her nose and I receive a giggle.

"On y va!"

"What?"

"Let's go!" In a parenthetical tone of voice (hushed, knowingly): "In french."

"On y va!"

Hands clasp and we're off hopping on the Green Monster Reborn (the Hulk? Maybe if it was a trucky and tempermental) and as he speeds us off to Musichead at 350 S. Riverside in Medfrods.

I ask how the ScP school week went. It was nothing, but she does have a project due in a week for her cooking class. She has to prepare a cultural dish and talk about the significance of the dish. I suggest jambalya, or pierogis and kielbasa. "It's what I like!" She rolls her eyes. She tells me she is going to do an english dish like fish and chips.

I ask about her favorite thanksgiving. She talks about it, about Gran'ma and Gran'pa. When she turns the question around, I don't have a response.

Musichead comes on our right, and I pull into the parking lot.

"Its because I've never got to spend Thanksgiving with my whole family. And I never will, not with my folks being divorced.

"Let's look for some muooo-sic. What do you want?"

"I dunno. Something by," somebody.

We seperate for a few minutes, maybe 10. We reunite, me bearing a a handful of NIN, N*E*R*D and Robert Johnson. Maybe some distillers or Detriot Cobras or Von Blondies or Yeah Yeah Yeah or Dropkick Murphys.

The reunion has occured in front of the DVD's and Caddyshack is staring me in the face for 5.99. It is decided.