New York WeddiMoon: Day 2
… In which I begin to have my suspicions that M is trying to kill me to get out of marrying me.
Today started off prettily enough with a sleep-in and then a serious feed-bag filling at Jing Fong in Chinatown. This place is dim sum heaven. Almost literally. You enter through a nondescript lobby in a building that seems like the Soviet Commissariat of the Department of Bureaus circa 1975 and immediately head up a very long, very steep escalator. As you get closer to the top, you begin to see chandeliers the size of small yachts, and then you enter a dining room that would comfortably fit an American football field. You get sat, resisting the first attempt to place you at a round ten-top with people you don’t know, and then the carts start rolling by. We said yes to almost everything. I was even game to try the chicken feet, but M drew the line.
Eating dim sum always seems to me like a better metaphor for life than Forrest’s mother’s box of chocolates. Because: some really amazing things are going to come by but you have to enjoy the hell out of them when they do. You don’t know what they’re called, you won’t remember if you are told, and you’ll probably never be able to find them again in the next dim sum restaurant you end up in.
What followed was:
Around Grundy Park I began to get the sense M was waiting for me to keel over so he could just sort of nudge me into the Hudson.
If this is my last communique, you’ll know what happened.