That year I had visited her while she was making gingerbread houses. They were beautiful and complicated and I admired her craftsmanship and skill. She too was a comic and made these every year, passed them out to producers, agents and bookers. At the time I was handing out - what do you call it - oh yeah, nothing. I don't think those houses ever helped her because she wasn't that funny and didn't work very much. Know your audience, people.
There was one that sat apart from the others. She called it her practice house. It looked good to me but she said it had lots of mistakes on it. Upon closer inspection I saw all the 'mistakes' and it was definitely the slum lord property of her Candyland.
What did she do with the practice house?
I have one of those memories that although not eidetic, is just as useful. I remember others' throwaway lines and have surprised many by remembering them from when I was fifteen. Although at the time I said I was nine because I was already in show business and lying about my age.
She said she saved the practice house for someone she didn't like that much.
I think we all know where this is going.
That's right, she showed up at my house with a big smile on her face.
End of chat.
