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What Cost Rainforest Cafe?

I’m pretty sure I know how it’s gonna go down.

There is a knock at the door and I open it to find an impossibly stylish young woman peering at me with a pitying expression.

And I try to play it cool.

“Hey bitch, whassup?!”

Her face goes from pitying to withering: I’ve gone too far.

“I mean, hello,” I gulp. “What brings you here today?”

“I think you know, Kelly. I think you know.”

And I do know, of course, but I pretend I don’t and try to change the subject.

“That’s an awesome shirt you’re wearing, I used to have one just like it.”

“I know you did,” she says. “But that was a very long time ago, wasn’t it?”

Her expression makes it clear that she’s tired of making small talk.

“You can’t prove anything,” I hiss.

“Oh I think I can, Kelly. I think I can.”

She steps forward and I can’t help but marvel at the confidence inherent in her swagger, to say nothing of her kick-ass stilettos.

“Nice boots, aren’t they, Kelly? A little nicer than the last ones you got, no?” She pauses and sneers. “Did you wear your new boots to your favorite new restaurant?”

Damn, she reads my blog!

“That’s just mean!” I protest. “You know I only go to that restaurant the odd afternoon because Graham loves the play area! You can’t possibly be here because of that.”

Is that a flicker of sympathy I see in her eyes?

“It’s not just that. Look, I could probably overlook that. I’m here because of what happened last Saturday night.”

Last Saturday night?! Oh God. My stomach falls.

“Come on, Kelly, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You spent Saturday night at the Rainforest Cafe, didn’t you?! The place you swore you’d never go. The place where they have animatronic gorillas and paper mache crocodiles!”

“But, but, they were actually kinda neat and—”

“NEAT!? I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Remember when you saw those animals in the wild? Remember when you camped in Africa under a full moon and listened to the lions roar and swore that your life would always be full of excitement?! Have you forgotten that? That you swore you would always be coo?!”

“But Graham loved it, he really loved it,” I protest. “Just look ...”

She sighs heavily.

“That doesn’t matter to me and you know it, Kelly. Now hand it over.”

“But I don’t want to ...” I hate the whine in my voice, but feel powerless to control it.

She just glares at me and slowly shakes her head.

“Never mind, I don’t think there’s any of it left for me to actually take anyway.”

And she turns her back on me. And away she stalks, my impossibly stylish younger self, leaving me once again marveling at her confident swagger and mourning the very last semblance of my cool that travels with her.

Photo courtesy of Don Mills Diva

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