We were walking down the Champs-Élysées a few weeks ago when we happened upon these little blighters. Sue and Shelley expressed interest, Aaron and I exchanged knowing glances and moved on. The wound had not yet healed.
It was 2004, and my brothers and I were on our first trip to Europe, courtesy of a reason (Helen and Nathan were getting married in Florence). We were walking the streets of Florence in a merry troop of Australians and Americans, when these bouncy characters caught our attention from the sidewalk. There they were, jigging happily to the beat of the boom box, and we were transfixed. The man standing next to them looked so suspect that he might not even have control over when he disappeared in a puff of smoke. And yet still, we, adults with OK brains, were transfixed.
We could not work out how it was being done (the jigging that is - obviously there was invisible string), but we decided that it was actually being done, and that was good enough for us. One Euro here, two euros there, Oh, I'll buy a few, more euros.
No, we were not drunk. But waking up the next morning to find these smiling pieces of cardboard that would just not dance, no matter what music you played, was akin to a very horrible hangover. Regret, embarrassment, and never again.
3 comments:
Is *that* why you clowns were eating supermarket pasta in your hotel room instead of eating out like normal tourists? Because you'd spent all your euro on a street scam?
I'm sorry.
And when I say "I'm sorry", I mean I shouldn't have let you wander round alone. Wedding preparations could take care of themselves; you boys couldn't.
My hangover lasted WEEKS! I was still hooking them up to every different radio I could get my hands on when I got home. None of them worked!
My head hurt.
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