Last week I went to a Liberty Game with Ivan, aka Taro’s dad. I brought the Taro Blankie in a shopping bag. In an effort to achieve new levels of wabi-sabi charm, I had folded and tied the blanket into an inside-out bundle of joy, with the label serving as gift tag.
For whose benefit was this cuteness? Not Taro–he’s too little. Not Ivan–he’s a guy. From childhood, girls know that they are not trying to impress the boys, but the other girls. Yes, it was for benefit of Taro’s mom. So she could gasp at the cuteness of it.
But Ivan, being the wonderful sort of guy who is so confident of his guy-ness that he has season tickets to a women’s professional basketball team,* refused to wait. Cuteness delayed is cuteness denied!
He unfurled it in the subway of all places. He loved it. He asked pertinent questions about washing it. So I was happy even though I was deprived of the opportunity to show off in front of a girl. I’m too mature for that crap, right?
*The men who go to WNBA games are a happy few, a band of brothers, etc. They have to endure things like ‘The Tampax Defensive Play of the Game’. (You think I’m kidding, but I’m not. ) They do this either because they are being politically correct and/or their daughters insist on going, or, like Ivan, because they love basketball so much that they can’t go without it during the summer when they know that it is just a subway ride away and the tickets are ridiculously cheap (because it’s WOMEN’s basketball, harrumph). One of my greatest peeves is the men I have taken to the game, who have said things like, ‘Oh, it’s sort of like the NBA in the 1950s–that level of play, you know?’ They think this is some kind of compliment. My response: Do YOU play this well, honey? Did you EVER play this well, on a good day? Well then, SHUT UP AND WATCH THE GAME.