The Irish Heather: The Eavesdropping, Part Two

from the archives
Part One  


Tuesday, October 01, 2002


Lush Lifeand he comes back a moment later with something small in a baggie. It is a tomato. It is not just any tomato. It is the tomato she presented to Sean Heather some considerable time ago. It is glossy orange except where it has gone bad, where it is sort of white and slimy-looking. It was a fine vegetable in its day, you can just tell by looking, but now it is slimy. The scene is reminiscent of that moment on the cop show where the parents have to identify the body.


Well, let us just say that in this case Mom takes it hard. "Why didn't you use it? It was a great tomato!" We brace ourselves to hear all about its fine future as a concert pianist, but are thankfully spared.


Sean makes small, excuse-sounding noises that don't go very far, at least not with her because she isn't having any of it. She lets him have it, though, and concludes with a lecture about how she does not want to come back-


"Good," says Sean, getting just one word in edgewise.


-and find the same thing has happened to this turnip. Ah yes, we are back to the turnip. This, she informs everyone within a couple of miles, is not just any turnip.




"NO! This is a watermelon turnip. An ORGANIC watermelon turnip."


"Oh. Really?"




Well, that seems to settle it. Sean reverently takes the Watermelon Turnipturnip, holding it not like a regular turnip, no, not in a regular turnip-hold at all, but on the flat of his hand like he is suddenly a spokesmodel from the Price Is Right, slowly turns and paces in that bridesmaid walk back into the kitchen.


While he is gone a waitress asks the woman what that egg is for. Ah yes, the egg. I had forgotten about the egg. Throughout the minuet with the barkeep there has been a small egg sitting on the bar beside her.

the egg

"It's a nonsmoking egg," she says, as if half the eggs you meet were regulars at the back door of the supermarket, puffing Export A's. I have never encountered an egg that smoked, but then I don't live back east.


But she's talking again. "I've been smoking for longer than my boyfriend has been alive, so I thought I'd better quit."


"So you got an egg," says the host with a positively Buddhist lack of expression, now returned from the turnip presentation.


"Yeah," she says. "This egg."


"Well I thought it would be that egg."


"Yes," she says, "this one right here. Every time I want to smoke I pick it up and squeeze it."


At this point she picks up the egg and gives it a good, hard squeeze. I am prepared for real drama, but nonsmoking eggs are apparently not real and instead are made of something that does not resent a good squeeze the way a real egg might. It just squooshes a bit; no cascading fountains of egg entrails, alas.


"Does it work?" asks the waitress, intrigued.


"It's the best nonsmoking egg I've ever used."

One thought on “The Irish Heather: The Eavesdropping, Part Two

  1. Pingback: raincoaster » The Irish Heather: The Eavesdropping Part One

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