The Return of The Pink Lady

I took an unexpected turn on Fourteenth Street upon the realization that I was missing the prosciutto in today's lunch of Tortellini Alfredo Prosciutto di Parma when I spotted Pink Lady. "It has been ages since I saw you last," I said (although others had and I knew she was still around). "Oh, I remember you," she replied. "You've taken my picture before." (I was intrigued by whom she might be calling and tried to listen in.)

There was some small talk as I snapped away (she even showed me her panties, but there is no need to cheapen this blog with those), and she asked, "Could I borrow a dollar? My disability check--I'm bipolar--is coming." I gave her five and asked if she still made the hats.

"Oh, yes! Do you like it? I'm hoping to move to Greenwich Village and sell them there." She had mentioned this before, as you may have read, and I bid her farewell with, "You'll fit right in." The pink slug, tapeworm made my eyes glaze over in wonder (although is was just a wing of a butterfly), and--of course--there was the eye make-up. I almost forgot where I was going.