FIREWORKS

He seemed genuinely upset at the concept. "I can't do that, it means I might touch her..... you knows".  Well, son, that's just the risk you'll have to take. Unless you want me to do it.
I made the offer in all sincerity.
No selfish reasons.

Courageously, he bit the bullet.


HEIMLICH MANOEUVRE

Many of my readers are probably familiar with Chinese Bubble Tea. Which is usually a sweet chilled beverage, which may or may not contain appreciable amounts of caffeine, to which disgusting rather large tapioca balls ("pearls") are added.  The balls are dark-brown, gummy, and well-nigh indigestible.

Young Chinese American women, who have the digestive fortitude of goats or mules, are addicted to these drinks. They love sucking up the balls through the extra wide straws, feeling the pop as the nasty thing ricochets off the back of the mouth, and relishing the plop as it falls into the acid bath of the stomach, where it will take up abdominal space for several days as the digestive oozes wage a futile war to render it peptically primordial.
I suspect the fact that naught else can occupy that area for many hours, in consequence of which they feel no hunger at all, and can anorexify themselves up the wazzoo, is the primary pleasure.

It's rather like the effect of Golden Arches Cuisine.

Last time I ate at Mickey-D's, it was still with me the next morning, and the evening that followed. Despite the years that have passed I keenly remember it. A yummy MacGutbomb in a bun.
Life is all about educational experiences.


On Thursday evening I wandered over to a high point on Telegraph Hill to watch the fireworks. Standing near me, behind all the large glandular freaks blocking the view, were a young Chinese couple who also couldn't see a darn thing. Because of all the large glandular freaks.
Apparently there are no fireworks in Heffalumpistan.
Illinois, Indiana, Michigan, Ohio, Minnesota.
Iowa, Kansas, Missouri, Nebraska.
Wisconsin and the Dakotas.
And all the south.
Etcetera.



She was enjoying a bubble milk tea.
A tapioca globule got stuck.
In her esophagaggy.

As she bent over making the most amazing sounds, I rapidly explained the Heimlich Manoeuvre to her swain. That was when he realized that succouring her might mean contact between his hands or arms and her maidenly swellings on the chest, around the middle of the rib cage.
He blanched. Then blushed. The streetlight showed this.
Meanwhile she hacked, and turned colours.
I offered to cut the Gordian knot.

I'm rather glad he manned up and did it for me. I got to see something both spectacular and touching, he got to accidentally feel parts of her with no ulterior motive and for all for the best of reasons, she got to breathe again, in the arms of her young man, and a complete stranger now has an ugly sticky tapioca booger on the drivers' side window of his or her Mazda.

It's a bonding experience, for everyone involved.

Fireworks, dude, fireworks.


Now that that barrier has been breached, I sincerely hope they become much better acquainted with each other. Judging by what I saw silhouetted in the light, there is plenty of willowy charm there.

She looked sweet, even when red-faced and panicky.
And he was totally desperate on her behalf.
Her knight in shining armour.
Happy 4th. of July.
Belatedly.


Final note: avoid those big tapioca balls, they're evil.





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