now, a story.
next door to a lovely local yarn store that i enjoy visiting, there is a questionable looking building, sans windows, and with but one lonely sign hinting at what lies within its darkened doors. the building and its sign are pure white, and in a most uninteresting serif font the sign reads simply, "roman holiday." mostly i ignored this place. until...
one day last week, my coworker asked me to accompany her to the yarn store and help pick out supplies for her own goodness endeavors. we got some burritos (i love burritos. i could eat like ten right now) and headed off to fondle the glorious yarns. as we approached the building, i made sure to point out the odd roman holiday place and suggest possible explanations for its ominousness. ominousity? whatever.
then i suggested we go in. much to my surprise, she agreed, and in we went. once safely past the heavy (and again windowless) door, at a glass-encased counter much like one would find in a liquor store in say, south central, we found a small man who eyed us suspiciously and then listed roman holiday's services. then the inner door opened and i couldn't help but glance inside.
i thanked the man for his information, and pulled my friend out the door and into the yarn store, where i tried desperately to make the memories go away. i was placated with some lovely julius colored malabrigo, which is now a lovely julius colored purse. the comfort only lasted so long though, as the memories swiftly returned.
because where you're from, roman holiday might be a classic audry hepburn movie, but where i live, it's a gay bath and health spa (as described by the man behind the glass) where i can see someone's naked grandpa on my friday afternoon lunch break.