It's the most magical time of my entire week. Erect with insatiable pride, I have a standing date with my two most fantastic dudes/lovebugs (depending on who you ask) in midtown NYC. The handle of squash scuttles us through the I-95 alley, the grandeur of Grand Central and slices us lovingly to the Harvard Club. Yes, there are far more accessible arenas for the game but, all that would be missed... would be absolutely lost on my little quiver. Shooting the kids through Harlem and it's awesome array of graffiti, arriving in a scale so inconsequential to our departed tableau, a stellar ceiling riddled with the same clutch of Hello Kitty helium balloons since Thanksgiving, religiously saluting the army men banked at Cipriani and then soft footing into the amalgamated heels of NYC's commotion,totally jives.
Three asride(as if spawned from the same MTA), we walk collectively and deliciously faster. Passing homeless folks licensing for change, white collars talking smack on their phones or discussing the architecture of the Chrysler Building; it's the education of life. Thursday at 4:45, I happen to be the best mother on the block. The cultural landscape is immense and the currency of this education is served up between a rally of yellow dotted squash balls and painted taxi cabs. Game on, baby.
