Sprinkles
Nelly told me to look up.
“Look at that gecko,” she said.
I looked. The gecko was on the ceiling above our table. There was a paper lantern above us, too, and inside the lantern, many bugs and a small frog. Smart frog, I thought. The gecko had its tail raised. I’d never seen a gecko do that.
Nelly also knew little about gecko habits. She’s a Manhattanite who teaches yoga at Crunch. At 23, she was the youngest of my classmates at Krishnamacharya Yoga Mandiram. Her tuition and travel were financed by a Zen-friendly hedge fund manager. She wears butterfly earrings and bejeweled barrettes, and she packed a pair of red high-heeled cowboy boots for her trip to India.
“What were you thinking?” I asked her once.
“I thought, if you can wear red high-heeled cowboy boots in India, I’ll be very sad that I didn’t bring them. So I did.”
You can’t.
Nelly and I watched the high-tailed gecko for a few seconds before we realized its purpose.
“Oooh,” we said in unison.
The gecko poo looked like a chocolate sprinkle. I noticed other sprinkles on the ceiling and walls, enough for a sundae. Our gazes returned to our menus. Roasted chicken or spinach crepe? They both sounded good. Nelly and I decided to share.
She flinched suddenly and swatted the top of her head.
“Bug?” I asked. I didn’t see one.
Nelly looked up.
“It’s not there anymore,” she said in a panicky voice.
Sure enough, the sprinkle wasn’t where the gecko had left it.
I wiped the gecko poo from Nelly’s hair. We ordered ice cream for dessert.
“Look at that gecko,” she said.
I looked. The gecko was on the ceiling above our table. There was a paper lantern above us, too, and inside the lantern, many bugs and a small frog. Smart frog, I thought. The gecko had its tail raised. I’d never seen a gecko do that.
Nelly also knew little about gecko habits. She’s a Manhattanite who teaches yoga at Crunch. At 23, she was the youngest of my classmates at Krishnamacharya Yoga Mandiram. Her tuition and travel were financed by a Zen-friendly hedge fund manager. She wears butterfly earrings and bejeweled barrettes, and she packed a pair of red high-heeled cowboy boots for her trip to India.
“What were you thinking?” I asked her once.
“I thought, if you can wear red high-heeled cowboy boots in India, I’ll be very sad that I didn’t bring them. So I did.”
You can’t.
Nelly and I watched the high-tailed gecko for a few seconds before we realized its purpose.
“Oooh,” we said in unison.
The gecko poo looked like a chocolate sprinkle. I noticed other sprinkles on the ceiling and walls, enough for a sundae. Our gazes returned to our menus. Roasted chicken or spinach crepe? They both sounded good. Nelly and I decided to share.
She flinched suddenly and swatted the top of her head.
“Bug?” I asked. I didn’t see one.
Nelly looked up.
“It’s not there anymore,” she said in a panicky voice.
Sure enough, the sprinkle wasn’t where the gecko had left it.
I wiped the gecko poo from Nelly’s hair. We ordered ice cream for dessert.
posted by Badass at 2:52 PM
3 Comments:
Hahaha -- this one had me laughing out loud at my desk. I will never think of sprinkles in the same way ever again!
At least the gecko didn't fall into your hair or coffee...Both have happened to me before in India... A little sprinkle never hurt anyone. Love, Sun
Hmmm... sprinkles. Zach likes Dairy Cream ice cream with color sprinkles... at least he doesn't order chocolate sprinkles!
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