Yesterday, while driving to the Kerry event, I was stopped at a crosswalk, and these two Marin trophy wives sauntered across the street. All of a sudden, in the middle of the crosswalk, the most offensive one took a header, and landed flat on her face. The other one, and this is fabulous, pretended it didn't happen, and simply crossed the street. She found it so embarassing, she didn't even help her "friend." If I was falling, I'd grab onto someone so I didn't go down alone.
It reminded me of when I lived in Philadelphia. Several apartment buildings off campus were used as student housing, and there was a big van that would show up and take kids to and from campus. Our building was about half students and half regular people, including an apartment on the 5th floor filled entirely with retarded adults. Like, 6 of them.
One snowy morning, I sat in the Ram Van (that's what they called it), and 4 or 5 big basketball players pile in. Before we drive away, we must wait for the 6 retarded adults to cross street in front of us. Now, it's snowing like crazy and the ground is covered in ice. Wisely, the retards decide to hold hands as they cross, lest one lose his balance. As they cross, the basketball players and myself watch in anticipatory silence for the inevitable. Then it happened.
The first retard fell, pulling the second, then the third, and then the whole group down with him. The van errupts into hoots, hollers, and high fives, the basketball players thrilled by this display, as the 6 retards lay on the ice. They took an eternity to get their bearings, find their mittens, and put their little knit hats back on. The basketball players, finding the humor of the situation dwindling, start to yell things like, "Move it or lose it, Corky!" and "Yo Rainman, haul ass!"
While I felt horrible for them, none of the retards seemed to mind. Perhaps, this happened all the time, or maybe they simply didn't care. They got back up, grabbed onto each other's hands again, and went on their independent way. Really, it's a good life lesson. I'd much rather be the retard than the trophy wife. The trophy wife went down alone, and no one held her hand when she got back up. They might of had mismatched shoes and lazy eyes, but, god bless 'em, those retards had each other.