Post #48677 by tikivixen on Wed, Aug 20, 2003 10:03 PM

Sabu, I'm still sputtering incoherently. Please do not keep me in suspense for long. Which one?!?!???

They're all fantastic, by the way.

Once upon a time in NYC, I went with my parents to Michael's Pub. I don't know why. Some rumor of jazz being played there, I suppose. Anyway, who should be seated at the next table but Woody Allen (and, probably, Mia Farrow, but I was only about thirteen and thoroughly, mercifully ignorant of the details of the Neurotic One's tedious lifestyle).

As usual during summer in New York, it was extremely hot. As we were getting ready to leave, I sat fanning myself with a napkin.

That's a NAPKIN, folks. You know...small, white, paper. Harmless.

Suddenly, a huge, remarkably butt-ugly Mike Mazurki lookalike looms over small helpless me. Blocking out the light, that sort of thing.

"Hey, you," says the thug. "Who, uh, ME?" I squeak, thoroughly confused.

"Yeah, you," says the bruiser. "Stop doin' that!"

I think I tried to say "what? doing WHAT? breathing? what?" but probably I actually just sat there with my mouth hanging open.

"Stop it!" he practically shouts, gesticulating towards the napkin, still clutched in my terrified, sweaty fist.

I found my voice. "You mean, uh, fanning myself?!"

"Yeah, stop it right now."

I began to tear up. "Whuu--why?""Because Mr. Allen don't like it, that's why!!!" and he stalked back over to his wormy little boss to file his report.

I say it now for all the Internet to hear:

Woody, go f*$k yourself. Thanks!

Gee, it felt good to vent about that.