What’s on my mind? My brother René, connoiseur of butter tarts, (NICOLE PARTON IS IN PATAGONIA) knows how to give as well as he gets. A few years ago, when René and wife Leslie were visiting New York, he was checking out an art show when he saw Sir Paul McCartney. Which was what he told gullible Moi at the time.
From the moment I swallowed that bit of fiction, he began spinning a story so wild I believed it had to be true. So this was what he told me: Not wanting to look like the wild-eyed, Beatle-crazed maniac he is, René played it cool, nonchalantly sidling over to Sir Paul, who was bent over a painting called Norwegian Wood. (Beatle lovers will recognize those words as the title of a popular 1965 Beatles’ song.)
His Pinocchio nose growing longer by the second, René claimed he sidled over to McCartney, commenting: “Isn’t it good?” His story unfurling, René told me his sly use of the song’s refrain sent Sir Paul a subtle signal René was an “okay guy.”
As René blathered on, Sir Paul allegedly turned from the painting to shake René’s hand and greet him as he might an old friend.
(At that point, I couldn’t restrain myself, saying something like: “Wowwwww!!!” and quizzing René if he’d asked Sir Paul for his autograph. I assumed René had but no-o-o-o ... He was playing it cool.
Hanging on René’s ever word, I pressed: “So what did you do?” Said René: “I asked Sir Paul: ‘What about a photo?’ He said ‘Yes.’ ”
By this time, I was twitching with excitement. “I WANNA SEE IT! LEMME SEE IT!” René told me to stifle.
“What happened next?” I asked. René continued: “I handed him the camera, Leslie and I posed, and he took our picture.”
“Wh-a-a-at??? You idiot!” I screamed. “You should have taken a picture of him!” René's tut-tut grin told me I’d been had. Literally for years, I’ve been quietly waiting to out-fox him, as I did in yesterday’s post.
René’s love of butter tarts and my promise to send him some tart pans had blinded him to the illogic of my visiting Patagonia for 16 long months. Hell, I don't even drive to the post office without asking Himself to come along in what we seniors consider an “outing.”
What’s the old saying about revenge? That it’s best eaten cold. To which I might add: Like a butter tart.
© Nicole Parton, 2021
