Sunday dinner at the Smith's. In clockwise order around the table: Mr. Smith, Mrs. Smith, Mrs. Bloom, Catherine Bloom, Margaret Bloom, Megan Cupcake, Mr. Bloom (at the far end), Clotilde, little Alexander, Mr. Smiley, Molly Bloom and Roderick. Mr. Fuzzums and Miss Kitty remain hidden under Catherine's chair. Alexander sits on an oddly shaped and brightly colored booster seat. On the menu today: roast pork, apple sauce and little green things. Clotilde brings a gift of pickled beets, which Mrs. Smith gratefully accepts and hides, hoping that Clotilde won't expect them to be served.
"What brings you to town, Mr. Smiley?" asks Megan.
"Oh, you know," says Mr. Smiley. "Just visiting."
"There's a new coffee place in town," says Mrs. Smith. "It's called Just Java."
"Oh, yes," says Mr. Smiley. "I went there last week."
"How was it?"
"Well..." Mr. Smiley ponders this. On the one hand, fair trade coffee; on the other, absence of whipped cream, no sprinkles, the question of coffee beans feeling pain, tiny spoon, exploding head. "It was nice."
Roderick is excited about his History of Accounting course. "Did you know that Luca Pacioli didn't actually invent double-entry bookkeeping? He merely codified it in his Summa de arithmetica, geometria, proportioni et proportionalità, a textbook for use in the schools of Northern Italy."
"No," says Mr. Bloom. "I had no idea."
Roderick warms to the subject. "The Summa, published in 1494, was a synthesis of the mathematical knowledge of his time and contained the first printed work on algebra written in the vernacular. It is also notable for including the first published description of the method of bookkeeping that Venetian merchants used during the Italian Renaissance, known as the double-entry accounting system. The system he published included most of the accounting cycle as we know it today. He described the use of journals and ledgers, and warned that a person should not go to sleep at night until the debits equaled the credits. His ledger had accounts for assets (including receivables and inventories), liabilities, capital, income, and expenses — the account categories that are reported on an organization's balance sheet and income statement, respectively. He demonstrated year-end closing entries and proposed that a trial balance be used to prove a balanced ledger."
Mr. Smiley listens intently, especially to the part about not going to sleep at night until the debits equal the credits. He finds this thought a little disturbing. Do his debits equal his credits? He does not know. Extracting a little journal from his pocket, he writes a note to himself to check on his debits and credits, and to make sure they are well behaved.
"Personally," says Mr. Bloom, "I want nothing to do with debits and credits. I'd rather pay my accountant to attend to them."
"Also," says Roderick, "Pacioli introduced the Rule of 72."
"Ah, the Rule of 72," says Mr. Smith. "What would we do without the Rule of 72?"
"Dessert anyone?" chirps Mrs. Smith.
The response is immediate and unanimous. In Beauneville, dessert is invariably pie, and nobody ever declines pie.
After dinner, while Molly plays the piano, Megan corners Roderick in the hallway. "Say something about Accounting," she whispers, rubbing up against him. "It makes me hot."
"Maybe later," says Roderick. "Molly's playing Charles Ives' Concord Sonata, and I want to hear the part in Hawthorne that Ives described as 'something to do with the children's excitement on that "frosty Berkshire morning, and the frost imagery on the enchanted hall window" or something to do with "Feathertop," the "Scarecrow," and his "Looking Glass" and the little demons dancing around his pipe bowl; or something to do with the old hymn tune that haunts the church and sings only to those in the churchyard, to protect them from secular noises, as when the circus parade comes down Main Street; or something to do with the concert at the Stamford camp meeting, or the "Slave's Shuffle"; or something to do with the Concord he-nymph, or the "Seven Vagabonds," or "Circe's Palace," or something else in the wonderbook--not something that happens, but the way something happens; or something to do with the "Celestial Railroad," or "Phoebe's Garden," or something personal,which tries to be "national" suddenly at twilight, and universal suddenly at midnight; or something about the ghost of a man who never lived, or about something that never will happen, or something else that is not.'"
Meanwhile, Mr. Smith, Mr. Bloom and Mr. Smiley sit on the front porch. Mr. Smith and Mr. Bloom sip a fine Calvados; Mr. Smiley sips chocolate milk. They reflect on life in general, and matters philosophical.
"So, Mr. Smiley, what are you doing with yourself these days?" asks Mr. Bloom.
Mr. Smiley sips his chocolate milk. He frowns, purses his lips, ponders the question. The chocolate milk is tasty. "Oh, nothing, really," he says.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Tuesday, March 18, 2014
No Sprinkles
Mr. Smiley pilots the Bubble Van up the Cidertown Road towards Beauneville. Clotilde, in the passenger seat, contemplates the countryside. Little Alexander, buckled into his oddly shaped and brightly colored car seat, dozes.
"Look!" says Mr. Smiley, pointing. A bright red Tesla Model S rests by the side of the road, near the faded Welcome to Beauneville sign. Betsy Flapper paces beside the car, talking animatedly on her iPhone.
"I think it's the Flapper girl," says Clotilde. "Should we stop?"
"She might be bird watching," says Mr. Smiley. "It's not nice to disturb people engaged in avian observation."
Clotilde agrees. They drive on. Truthfully, though, there is no such rule in Smiley etiquette. It's just that the Flappers make Mr. Smiley uncomfortable for some strange reason.
"What do you mean, plug it in?" Betsy shouts into her iPhone. Betsy's brand new Tesla has 265 miles on the odometer, which just happens to be the driving range. "Nobody ever said anything about plugging it in! My mother will fucking kill you!"
The customer service rep from Glen Falls Tesla is unmoved. Since the Town Meeting voted to mandate zero emission vehicles for all residents, there is a six month waiting list for cars.
Betsy ends the call angrily and stands by the side of the road, arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. She's visiting Beauneville to check on the latest outlet for her franchise operation, Just Java, purveyors of craft coffee.
After about thirty minutes a dusty red tow truck rattles up the Cidertown Road from Beauneville, passes Betsy, makes a U-turn, passes Betsy again going in the other direction and pulls to the side of the road just ahead of the dead Tesla. A big young man wearing dirty coveralls slouches to the ground from the cab and slowly shambles around the back of the truck to the side of the road where Betsy stands.
"Hah y'all," says the young man, first eyeing the Tesla, then Betsy.
Betsy rolls her eyes. "I'm an important businesswoman and they send me Gomer Pyle."
"Mah name ain't Gomer, ma'am, it's Jimmy." Jimmy pulls a dirty handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his nose. He points to the Tesla. "That thar's one of them 'leck-trick thingies ain't it ma'am?"
Jimmy graduated from Beauneville Latin summa cum laude last May, and delivered a valedictory address on themes of idolatry in Paradise Lost. He wants to pursue a career in NASCAR or country music.
Betsy rolls her eyes again. "Tell me you have a Tesla charging station in town."
Jimmy shakes his head. "Nope. Ain't got one of them."
"Well you do have electricity, don't you?"
"Yup."
"So can you at least tow me in to town and plug it in? And don't scratch the fucking paint."
Betsy stomps to the back of the car, opens the trunk and retrieves her Salvatore Ferragamo Python briefcase, which contains her loaded fifteen-inch MacBook Pro and her copy of Lean In. Taking care to avoid dirtying her black Carolina Herrara Flared Doupioni Shirtdress, she gingerly climbs into the cab of the tow truck while Jimmy struggles with the hook and chain.
Meanwhile, in downtown Beauneville (if Beauneville can be said to have a downtown), Mr. Smiley pushes open the door to Just Java, the new coffee shop in town. It's across the street from Zeppelin Drugs. Ordinarily, Mr. Smiley is a loyal customer of the Cafe Venice, but today he has a yen for something new.
The sign in the window says Just Java: The Crafted Cup. Mr. Smiley likes that.
"Good morning, my name is Justin," says the young man behind the counter, "and I'll be serving you today. Welcome to Just Java. We only serve coffee made from Fair Trade coffee beans."
Mr. Smiley is pleased to learn that Just Java only serves coffee made from Fair Trade coffee beans. It tastes so much better than coffee made from Unfair Trade coffee beans.
"Thank you, I would like a Cafe Schmozzle, please."
As you know, a Cafe Schmozzle is made from warm chocolate milk, with whipped cream. And sprinkles.
Justin points to the menu board. "We just serve freshly crafted coffee, but you can choose from any of these Fair Trade beans."
The menu board displays a long list of countries Mr. Smiley doesn't know anything about. He's a little disappointed they don't have sprinkles.
"I guess I'll just have a cup of your most popular brew." When Smileys are confronted with challenging choices, they generally have what everyone else is having. This is a useful convention, except when Smileys are in groups.
Justin dutifully measures two scoops of the Extra Fancy Kona Medium Roast into the grinder, replaces the lid and presses the "on" switch.
The noise startles Mr. Smiley. "What's that noise?"
"Just grinding the coffee, sir."
Mr. Smiley ponders whether coffee beans feel pain when ground. He considers bringing this up as a topic of discussion, then decides against it. It's not nice to bring up disturbing questions.
Justin finishes grinding the coffee -- exactly twenty-two seconds -- and dumps the fine powder into the funnel of a plastic Aeropress. Pouring hot water into a beaker, he inserts a thermometer.
"What's that for?" asks Mr. Smiley.
"We use water that is exactly eighty degrees Celsius."
"Oh."
"That's one hundred seventy five degrees Fahrenheit," adds Justin, helpfully.
Mr. Smiley prefers Celsius. He doesn't want to burn his mouth.
Justin pours the water into the Aeropress. Dampening the plunger, he compresses it slowly, counting twenty seconds out loud. Removing the plunger, he pours the hot liquid into a tiny cup, places it on a saucer with a tiny spoon and positions the beverage on the counter just so. "That will be nine fifty," he says, proudly.
Mr. Smiley likes the tiny spoon. "Do you have any whipped cream?"
From Justin's expression, Mr. Smiley ascertains that whipped cream is not an option.
Gingerly, he takes a sip. His head explodes. Not literally, of course.
Later in the day, Mr. Smiley and Clotilde go for a stroll on Main Street with little Alexander. They pass Just Java; Betsy's Tesla is parked out front, with an extension cord running into the store.
Mr. Smiley describes his visit earlier in the day.
"How was it?" asks Clotilde.
Mr. Smiley ponders his customer experience. Absence of whipped cream, no sprinkles, the question of coffee beans feeling pain, tiny spoon.
"It was nice."
"Look!" says Mr. Smiley, pointing. A bright red Tesla Model S rests by the side of the road, near the faded Welcome to Beauneville sign. Betsy Flapper paces beside the car, talking animatedly on her iPhone.
"I think it's the Flapper girl," says Clotilde. "Should we stop?"
"She might be bird watching," says Mr. Smiley. "It's not nice to disturb people engaged in avian observation."
Clotilde agrees. They drive on. Truthfully, though, there is no such rule in Smiley etiquette. It's just that the Flappers make Mr. Smiley uncomfortable for some strange reason.
"What do you mean, plug it in?" Betsy shouts into her iPhone. Betsy's brand new Tesla has 265 miles on the odometer, which just happens to be the driving range. "Nobody ever said anything about plugging it in! My mother will fucking kill you!"
The customer service rep from Glen Falls Tesla is unmoved. Since the Town Meeting voted to mandate zero emission vehicles for all residents, there is a six month waiting list for cars.
Betsy ends the call angrily and stands by the side of the road, arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently. She's visiting Beauneville to check on the latest outlet for her franchise operation, Just Java, purveyors of craft coffee.
After about thirty minutes a dusty red tow truck rattles up the Cidertown Road from Beauneville, passes Betsy, makes a U-turn, passes Betsy again going in the other direction and pulls to the side of the road just ahead of the dead Tesla. A big young man wearing dirty coveralls slouches to the ground from the cab and slowly shambles around the back of the truck to the side of the road where Betsy stands.
"Hah y'all," says the young man, first eyeing the Tesla, then Betsy.
Betsy rolls her eyes. "I'm an important businesswoman and they send me Gomer Pyle."
"Mah name ain't Gomer, ma'am, it's Jimmy." Jimmy pulls a dirty handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his nose. He points to the Tesla. "That thar's one of them 'leck-trick thingies ain't it ma'am?"
Jimmy graduated from Beauneville Latin summa cum laude last May, and delivered a valedictory address on themes of idolatry in Paradise Lost. He wants to pursue a career in NASCAR or country music.
Betsy rolls her eyes again. "Tell me you have a Tesla charging station in town."
Jimmy shakes his head. "Nope. Ain't got one of them."
"Well you do have electricity, don't you?"
"Yup."
"So can you at least tow me in to town and plug it in? And don't scratch the fucking paint."
Betsy stomps to the back of the car, opens the trunk and retrieves her Salvatore Ferragamo Python briefcase, which contains her loaded fifteen-inch MacBook Pro and her copy of Lean In. Taking care to avoid dirtying her black Carolina Herrara Flared Doupioni Shirtdress, she gingerly climbs into the cab of the tow truck while Jimmy struggles with the hook and chain.
Meanwhile, in downtown Beauneville (if Beauneville can be said to have a downtown), Mr. Smiley pushes open the door to Just Java, the new coffee shop in town. It's across the street from Zeppelin Drugs. Ordinarily, Mr. Smiley is a loyal customer of the Cafe Venice, but today he has a yen for something new.
The sign in the window says Just Java: The Crafted Cup. Mr. Smiley likes that.
"Good morning, my name is Justin," says the young man behind the counter, "and I'll be serving you today. Welcome to Just Java. We only serve coffee made from Fair Trade coffee beans."
Mr. Smiley is pleased to learn that Just Java only serves coffee made from Fair Trade coffee beans. It tastes so much better than coffee made from Unfair Trade coffee beans.
"Thank you, I would like a Cafe Schmozzle, please."
As you know, a Cafe Schmozzle is made from warm chocolate milk, with whipped cream. And sprinkles.
Justin points to the menu board. "We just serve freshly crafted coffee, but you can choose from any of these Fair Trade beans."
The menu board displays a long list of countries Mr. Smiley doesn't know anything about. He's a little disappointed they don't have sprinkles.
"I guess I'll just have a cup of your most popular brew." When Smileys are confronted with challenging choices, they generally have what everyone else is having. This is a useful convention, except when Smileys are in groups.
Justin dutifully measures two scoops of the Extra Fancy Kona Medium Roast into the grinder, replaces the lid and presses the "on" switch.
The noise startles Mr. Smiley. "What's that noise?"
"Just grinding the coffee, sir."
Mr. Smiley ponders whether coffee beans feel pain when ground. He considers bringing this up as a topic of discussion, then decides against it. It's not nice to bring up disturbing questions.
Justin finishes grinding the coffee -- exactly twenty-two seconds -- and dumps the fine powder into the funnel of a plastic Aeropress. Pouring hot water into a beaker, he inserts a thermometer.
"What's that for?" asks Mr. Smiley.
"We use water that is exactly eighty degrees Celsius."
"Oh."
"That's one hundred seventy five degrees Fahrenheit," adds Justin, helpfully.
Mr. Smiley prefers Celsius. He doesn't want to burn his mouth.
Justin pours the water into the Aeropress. Dampening the plunger, he compresses it slowly, counting twenty seconds out loud. Removing the plunger, he pours the hot liquid into a tiny cup, places it on a saucer with a tiny spoon and positions the beverage on the counter just so. "That will be nine fifty," he says, proudly.
Mr. Smiley likes the tiny spoon. "Do you have any whipped cream?"
From Justin's expression, Mr. Smiley ascertains that whipped cream is not an option.
Gingerly, he takes a sip. His head explodes. Not literally, of course.
Later in the day, Mr. Smiley and Clotilde go for a stroll on Main Street with little Alexander. They pass Just Java; Betsy's Tesla is parked out front, with an extension cord running into the store.
Mr. Smiley describes his visit earlier in the day.
"How was it?" asks Clotilde.
Mr. Smiley ponders his customer experience. Absence of whipped cream, no sprinkles, the question of coffee beans feeling pain, tiny spoon.
"It was nice."
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Jesus Who?
Bach wrote no cantatas for Lenten Sundays, as it was the practice at the Thomaskirche to eschew music until Palm Sunday. Mr. Mendelssohn spends the season in Key West, and members of the Chorale sleep late on Sundays.
Mr. Blech of the Theology faculty presents today's inspirational message: "Benign Indifference or Utter Obliviousness: Towards A Theology of 'Nice'."
Meanwhile, Dickie Wickett hosts a housewarming for the new home he shares with Katie Zeppelin out on East Cidertown Road. He pulls Roderick aside. "C'mon, take a look at my new car."
Roderick follows Dickie through a hallway, then down a flight of stairs to a finished basement. Dickie opens a door at the far end and steps into a large immaculate white garage.
"Wow!" says Roderick.
"It's a 1950 Jaguar XK 120," says Dickie, proudly. "I bought it with Bitcoins."
Roderick is kind of interested in this whole Bitcoin thing. "I hear that you're running a Bitcoin exchange."
"That's right," says Dickie. "It's more lucrative than search engine optimization, and Katie can run Condoms.com on her own."
"So how do Bitcoins work?"
"Simple. People give me money, and I give them Bitcoins."
"Then what?"
"Nothing. They keep on giving me money and I give them more Bitcoins."
"What happens when people want to redeem their Bitcoins?"
"Heh. I give them more Bitcoins."
"And if they want to convert Bitcoins to cash?"
"They go to another exchange."
Roderick makes a mental note to look into this whole Bitcoin thing.
Mary Bloom arrives in her new J.C.Penney Sassy and Slutty outfit. Katie welcomes her. "Love your outfit," she coos. "What happened to the 'pure and unsullied' look?"
"Well," says Mary, "I'm not a virgin anymore so I guess I'm a whore."
"If the shoe fits. Drinks are over there, help yourself."
Roderick arrives to chat with Katie. "How're things at Lake City?"
"I dropped out. We're making a mint with the website and Bitcoin exchange."
Roderick and Molly drive back to Old Ivy in time for the Sunday evening lecture. Mr. Vinkle of the Philosophy faculty presents his research on religion in Scandinavia, the title of which is "Jesus Who?"
Mr. Blech of the Theology faculty presents today's inspirational message: "Benign Indifference or Utter Obliviousness: Towards A Theology of 'Nice'."
Meanwhile, Dickie Wickett hosts a housewarming for the new home he shares with Katie Zeppelin out on East Cidertown Road. He pulls Roderick aside. "C'mon, take a look at my new car."
Roderick follows Dickie through a hallway, then down a flight of stairs to a finished basement. Dickie opens a door at the far end and steps into a large immaculate white garage.
"Wow!" says Roderick.
"It's a 1950 Jaguar XK 120," says Dickie, proudly. "I bought it with Bitcoins."
Roderick is kind of interested in this whole Bitcoin thing. "I hear that you're running a Bitcoin exchange."
"That's right," says Dickie. "It's more lucrative than search engine optimization, and Katie can run Condoms.com on her own."
"So how do Bitcoins work?"
"Simple. People give me money, and I give them Bitcoins."
"Then what?"
"Nothing. They keep on giving me money and I give them more Bitcoins."
"What happens when people want to redeem their Bitcoins?"
"Heh. I give them more Bitcoins."
"And if they want to convert Bitcoins to cash?"
"They go to another exchange."
Roderick makes a mental note to look into this whole Bitcoin thing.
Mary Bloom arrives in her new J.C.Penney Sassy and Slutty outfit. Katie welcomes her. "Love your outfit," she coos. "What happened to the 'pure and unsullied' look?"
"Well," says Mary, "I'm not a virgin anymore so I guess I'm a whore."
"If the shoe fits. Drinks are over there, help yourself."
Roderick arrives to chat with Katie. "How're things at Lake City?"
"I dropped out. We're making a mint with the website and Bitcoin exchange."
Roderick and Molly drive back to Old Ivy in time for the Sunday evening lecture. Mr. Vinkle of the Philosophy faculty presents his research on religion in Scandinavia, the title of which is "Jesus Who?"
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Wardrobe Malfunction
Shawanna fiddles with her blonde braids. "Shee-it, mothafuckah!" she shouts into her iPhone. "Ah ain't no baby momma!" Angrily, she presses "End".
"Ahem," says Mr. Bloom, standing at the Sritt-Nick counter.
"What choo want?" demands Shawanna, glaring at Mr. Bloom
"Um, I'm here to see Mary Bloom."
"Ah ain't no do'man, crackah," says Shawanna, pointing to the staircase with a lily-white finger. "You wants to see a young'un, you just goes."
"Thank you." Mr. Bloom climbs the stairs to the fourth floor and turns to the right down the corridor. It's a typical Sunday morning at Sritt-Nick. The floor is littered with cups, beer cans and, not too far from Mary's door, a pool of vomit.
Mr. Bloom knocks on Mary's door.
Mary, in pajamas, opens the door. Her eyes are red, and a little tearful. "Oh, hello, Daddy," she says, stepping aside. "Come on in."
"Wait! I'm not dressed!" cries Melissa, stark naked except for the t-shirt she is presently trying to pull over her head.
"It's okay, silly, it's just Daddy," says Mary, petulantly. Melissa continues to struggle with the t-shirt and succeeds in pulling it over her head and down to mostly cover her private parts. "Daddy, this is Melissa, my roommate," says Mary.
"Pleased to meet you," says Mr. Bloom. "Nice bush."
Melissa squints, then gropes for her glasses and puts them on.
Mr. Bloom hands a gift-wrapped package to Mary. "I thought you might be a little blue, so I brought you something."
Mary's eyes light up. "For me? I wonder what it is!" She takes the package and quickly removes the gift wrap, breaking into a smile. "Wow, a Waterworks Natural Vagina Douching Device! How thoughtful!" she hugs Mr. Bloom.
Melissa squints. "What is it?"
Mary unwinds from Mr. Bloom and holds the gift out so Melissa can see it. "You use it to wash your...you know."
"Oh."
"You can borrow it if you wash it after."
"Um, okay."
Mr. Bloom sits on Melissa's bed and gestures to Mary to sit next to him. "So what's bothering you?"
Mary looks down and fidgets with her bracelet. "Well, you see..." her voice trails off. Mary can barely hold it together.
Mr. Bloom puts his arm around her. "Hey, honey, you can tell me anything, I'm your Dad. Trouble with a customer?"
Mary shakes her head. Her face reddens, a tear runs down her cheek and drops to the floor. Suddenly, she rises from the bed, strides to the desk, rummages through some papers, returns to the bed, thrusts a sheet of paper at Mr. Bloom and buries her head in his shoulder, sobbing.
Mr. Bloom glances at the letter, which bears the heading National Virgin Society. He begins to read aloud:
Skimming, Mr. Bloom comments. "So...they've decided you can't compete for Miss College Virgin."
Mary nods. "Read the rest."
Mr. Bloom reads. "And they've terminated your membership in the Society."
Mary nods and sobs.
Helpfully, Melissa interjects. "Well, you really aren't a virgin."
Mary balls her fists, and pounds the bed, sobbing. "It's so unfair!"
Mr. Bloom gives Melissa a look and hugs Mary. "It's okay...we'll get past this together..."
"But, my customers! What will I tell my customers?" she wails.
"Oh, I don't think the johns care whether you're an actual virgin."
Meanwhile, at Old Ivy, Roderick awakes sandwiched between Molly and Megan. He sits up in bed and ponders the night before. Overall, the Vienna Ball went pretty well. There was that little snit between Natasha and Security over her fake service dog, and Megan's "wardrobe malfunction" during the polka s'gibt nur a Kaiserstadt, s'gibt nur ein Wien caused a bit of a stir; but the ringer on zither did a stellar job in Geschichten aus dem Wienerwald.
Roderick noodges the women awake. "Come on, it's almost ten!" Today is Quinquagesima Sunday, and the Old Ivy Bach Chorale performs the Bach Cantata Du wahrer Gott und Davids Sohn, BWV 23. With its unusual instrumentation (cornet, two oboes, three trombones, strings and continuo), the cantata gives the Reed twins (aka "the Double Reeds") a chance to shine on oboe; and Old Ivy's three trombonists (Larry, Pete and Zelda) get to play in the last movement.
Inside St. Cecilia, they sit and listen. The Double Reeds rise to the occasion, as do Larry, Pete and Zelda. During the final chorale, Christe, du Lamm Gottes, Megan checks online for video of her wardrobe malfunction.
"Ahem," says Mr. Bloom, standing at the Sritt-Nick counter.
"What choo want?" demands Shawanna, glaring at Mr. Bloom
"Um, I'm here to see Mary Bloom."
"Ah ain't no do'man, crackah," says Shawanna, pointing to the staircase with a lily-white finger. "You wants to see a young'un, you just goes."
"Thank you." Mr. Bloom climbs the stairs to the fourth floor and turns to the right down the corridor. It's a typical Sunday morning at Sritt-Nick. The floor is littered with cups, beer cans and, not too far from Mary's door, a pool of vomit.
Mr. Bloom knocks on Mary's door.
Mary, in pajamas, opens the door. Her eyes are red, and a little tearful. "Oh, hello, Daddy," she says, stepping aside. "Come on in."
"Wait! I'm not dressed!" cries Melissa, stark naked except for the t-shirt she is presently trying to pull over her head.
"It's okay, silly, it's just Daddy," says Mary, petulantly. Melissa continues to struggle with the t-shirt and succeeds in pulling it over her head and down to mostly cover her private parts. "Daddy, this is Melissa, my roommate," says Mary.
"Pleased to meet you," says Mr. Bloom. "Nice bush."
Melissa squints, then gropes for her glasses and puts them on.
Mr. Bloom hands a gift-wrapped package to Mary. "I thought you might be a little blue, so I brought you something."
Mary's eyes light up. "For me? I wonder what it is!" She takes the package and quickly removes the gift wrap, breaking into a smile. "Wow, a Waterworks Natural Vagina Douching Device! How thoughtful!" she hugs Mr. Bloom.
Mary unwinds from Mr. Bloom and holds the gift out so Melissa can see it. "You use it to wash your...you know."
"Oh."
"You can borrow it if you wash it after."
"Um, okay."
Mr. Bloom sits on Melissa's bed and gestures to Mary to sit next to him. "So what's bothering you?"
Mary looks down and fidgets with her bracelet. "Well, you see..." her voice trails off. Mary can barely hold it together.
Mr. Bloom puts his arm around her. "Hey, honey, you can tell me anything, I'm your Dad. Trouble with a customer?"
Mary shakes her head. Her face reddens, a tear runs down her cheek and drops to the floor. Suddenly, she rises from the bed, strides to the desk, rummages through some papers, returns to the bed, thrusts a sheet of paper at Mr. Bloom and buries her head in his shoulder, sobbing.
Mr. Bloom glances at the letter, which bears the heading National Virgin Society. He begins to read aloud:
Dear Miss Bloom,"Disqualified!" wails Mary. The random inspection two weeks ago, it seems, did not go well. The inspectors concluded that her virgo was not intacta; in fact, it was missing altogether.
We regret to inform you...
Skimming, Mr. Bloom comments. "So...they've decided you can't compete for Miss College Virgin."
Mary nods. "Read the rest."
Mr. Bloom reads. "And they've terminated your membership in the Society."
Mary nods and sobs.
Helpfully, Melissa interjects. "Well, you really aren't a virgin."
Mary balls her fists, and pounds the bed, sobbing. "It's so unfair!"
Mr. Bloom gives Melissa a look and hugs Mary. "It's okay...we'll get past this together..."
"But, my customers! What will I tell my customers?" she wails.
"Oh, I don't think the johns care whether you're an actual virgin."
Meanwhile, at Old Ivy, Roderick awakes sandwiched between Molly and Megan. He sits up in bed and ponders the night before. Overall, the Vienna Ball went pretty well. There was that little snit between Natasha and Security over her fake service dog, and Megan's "wardrobe malfunction" during the polka s'gibt nur a Kaiserstadt, s'gibt nur ein Wien caused a bit of a stir; but the ringer on zither did a stellar job in Geschichten aus dem Wienerwald.
Roderick noodges the women awake. "Come on, it's almost ten!" Today is Quinquagesima Sunday, and the Old Ivy Bach Chorale performs the Bach Cantata Du wahrer Gott und Davids Sohn, BWV 23. With its unusual instrumentation (cornet, two oboes, three trombones, strings and continuo), the cantata gives the Reed twins (aka "the Double Reeds") a chance to shine on oboe; and Old Ivy's three trombonists (Larry, Pete and Zelda) get to play in the last movement.
Inside St. Cecilia, they sit and listen. The Double Reeds rise to the occasion, as do Larry, Pete and Zelda. During the final chorale, Christe, du Lamm Gottes, Megan checks online for video of her wardrobe malfunction.
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