METROPOLITAN DIARY 'I Must Present a Compelling Case for Keeping the Item in Question'
'A couple’s deal on what passes for trash, a first kiss in Brooklyn and more reader tales of New York City in this week’s Metropolitan Diary.
Decluttering
Dear Diary:
After 34 years in cramped apartments, my wife and I have an arrangement that is not uncommon among city residents who share tight spaces: I keep stuff, and she throws stuff out.
Over time, I have noted that my wife has three distinct levels of “throw out.”
Throw-out Level 1 (the lowest): She holds something up and asks: “Can we throw this out?” This gives me an opportunity to object.
Throw-out Level 2: She holds something up and says: “I’m throwing this out.” This means that I must present a compelling case for keeping the item in question.
Throw-out Level 3 (what I call “Throw out with extreme malice.”): This is when I ask where something is, and my wife responds: “Oh, that. I threw that out.”
— Richard Pieper
At the Diner
Dear Diary:
The night my husband and I fell in love, we dressed up like animals for a themed party at House of Yes. I was a fish and he was a cat.
Neither of us had ever cared much for dancing in clubs, but we outlasted all of our friends that night. Our first kiss was on the dance floor.
Afterward, we walked through a misty drizzle to the Williamsburg waterfront, where we watched the sunrise. The Manhattan skyline had never looked so beautiful.
We headed to Kellogg’s diner. After feasting on eggs, hash browns and waffles, we stood outside, eyes and lips locked, not wanting the night to end.
“Excuse me!” a crackly, nasal voice said.
We turned to see two older women. One had an aluminum walker and an impatient scowl. We were blocking their access to the wheelchair ramp.
We apologized and moved out of the way.
A few moments later, the second woman came back outside.
“I’m so sorry about my friend,” she said in a thick Brooklyn accent. “I told her, ‘Leave ’em alone, they’re in love!’”
— Samia Mounts
Losing It
Dear Diary:
It was January and I was home from college visiting my father on the Upper West Side.
While I was in New York, I relished making plans way downtown that would give me the chance to get a good stroll in. Unfortunately, that often meant braving the madness of Midtown.
On one chilly night, I was near 39th Street when a huge truck swerved around some parked cars and pulled up to a red light way too close to me.
I lost it. Pure rage. Every curse I could string together flew out of my mouth. I even banged the side of the truck’s cab with my open palm.
I could see the steam pulsing off me as I waited for the driver’s response. I was ready to escalate.
But after a beat, he smiled.
“That was pretty good,” he said through the truck’s open window.
My fury dissipated immediately. And as it did, a new warmth filled my cheeks. Pride.
I loosened my scarf and kept walking downtown, leaving Midtown’s mad heat behind.
— Victoria Bata'>>>
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/17/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html
