Southern Romances

I went to visit friends in Gloucester, Virginia, and after a day spent picking blueberries, boating, and drinking shandies on the porch, a local friend of my hosts came to visit. He had been born and raised in Gloucester and had never left the area. He stood before us – a group of six – in a stance that left no doubt he was uncomfortable being with strangers. Lolly, trying to put him at ease (I think) smiled at him. And asked him questions. What kind? Oh, here’s a sample:

LOLLY: Ah, so Allan is it? Well, Allan, we would love to get to know you better so tell us: what is your essence?

Allan looked flabbergasted and his mouth moved in guppy-like puckers.

ALLAN: Well, my girlfriend says that I don’t talk much.
LOLLY: Ah. Not a talker.
ALLAN *thinking and puckering*: And ... she’s the boss.
LOLLY: What? Is she your boss? Or is she a bossy girlfriend?
ALLAN *puckering and thinking*: Yeah. She’s my boss. Not in a job, you know? Cuz I work for myself. But she’s the boss.

ALL OF US: Ah, yes, we get it.

ALICE: Where do you live?
ALLAN: Right next door. I have two horses that are riding horses and...that’s all.
ALICE: Well, that’s enough, no?
ALLAN: Yeah. I guess.

We stayed up very late talking, laughing and drinking, and my male host then told us that a month ago, he had put an ad in the pet section of the local paper. It seems that his guinea hen, Cesar, was pining for his wife, Marsha; she had been killed by a neighbor’s dog several months before. So since these hens are flock creatures, my friend wanted to end Cesar's suffering so the ad read: Widower Guinea is looking for two companions.

Apparently, the next day he answers a phone call from a woman who questions him about the “two” companions requirement. My friend insists that the guinea needs two. At least. Maybe more. Woman tsks and says that she really is not into threesomes, or group orgies.

MY FRIEND : WHAT! This is for a guinea hen! You know – a fowl!
WOMAN *disappointed*: Oh, well that was false advertising. I thought it was a gentleman.
MY FRIEND: It was in the PET section!
WOMAN: I’m just saying.

Later that day, my friend’s wife answers another call.

CALLER *quite brusquely*: Is he there?
WIFE: HE is a CHICKEN!
CALLER: Aww. That’s alright. He don’t have to be afraid of me!

Well, my friend may have his pick of kinky, lusty Gloucester womenfolk, but poor Cesar is still a lonely bachelor.

And after spending some time with Allan, we found out it was true: he doesn't say much and his girlfriend IS bossy. And he does have two horses. And...that's all.

Hello, again

I spent a great afternoon yesterday with a friend that I see a lot, but only at night. So we decided that since we are not vampires, we could venture out into the sunshine and meet for shoe shopping. After an hour of looking but not buying, my friend announced that she was feeling "peckish" so we went for a late lunch. Conversation was, as usual, wonderfully intense and she told me of a date she had been on recently with someone she had not wanted to see again, but thought another chance was in order. Actually this would be his third chance.

They met and at some point he stopped in a bar because he had to use the bathroom. He asked her to wait outside because he was just running in and coming out so that they could continue to wherever he was taking her. My friend waited and waited. Finally, she looked through the window and saw her date sitting at the bar. Drinking. She kept on looking at him and saw him drink away, then pay, and then come outside to her.

FRIEND: WHAT? You were drinking? I was out here? You were drinking?
DATE: I felt guilty.
FRIEND: Guilty?
DATE: Yeah. After I used the bathroom, I was going outside but the bartender gave me a look so I felt guilty not buying anything. I had to get a drink so the bartender wouldn't think that I just came in to use the bathroom.
FRIEND: But that's exactly what you were doing!
DATE: Yeah, but I felt guilty.

I was astounded that her date did not feel guilty about leaving her outside while he assuaged his anxiety over an anonymous bartender. I mean, if his feet couldn't or wouldn't lead him to the door, why didn't he just beckon her to join him in that guilty drink? My friend ended the date early – very early – and went home, disappointed at herself for getting involved in another bad date.

Apparently, he wants to see her again. He has sent her a text message asking her to join him — for a drink. She sent back an am not interested reply, though she is known for changing her mind again, and again, and again, after a cooling-off period.

And she has. Changed her mind, that is. She will be seeing him again tonight.

Douglas Adams knew it best, it seems. He has said that Human beings, who are almost unique in having the ability to learn from the experience of others, are also remarkable for their apparent disinclination to do so.

Just call me...Pythia?

Questions. Yesterday was filled with questions. All directed at me. Here’s a sampling:

HOMELESS MAN: Uh. Miss Lady. Can you spare some change?
ALICE: *startled out of daydream*: Umm. Sorry?
HOMELESS MAN *bit put out that I wasn’t paying attention*: I SAID, can you spare some change?
ALICE *not loving the tone*: Maybe.
HOMELESS MAN *waiting*: Well. When?
ALICE *cheerily*: Soon.
HOMELESS MAN *frowning*: I want it now, Miss Lady.
ALICE: Don’t we all. Alright. Here.
HOMELESS MAN: Took you long enough, didn’ it?
ALICE: Not bloody long enough.

Back at the house:

REAL ESTATE AGENT: Where’s the electrical box?
ALICE: In the foyer.
REAL ESTATE AGENT: Why there? Why not in the basement?
ALICE: Umm. No clue.
REAL ESTATE AGENT: Where’s the plat?
ALICE *thinking hard*: Umm. No clue.
REAL ESTATE AGENT: What…
ALICE *interrupting quickly*: Umm. No clue.
REAL ESTATE AGENT *narrows eyes*: I didn’t get to ask the question. How can you have no clue to a question that wasn’t asked?
ALICE: I’m good that way.

Later, my friend Jane telephones:

JANE: I have a question for you.
ALICE: Okay.
JANE: What do you think the diameter of a cherry tree would be?
ALICE: Umm. No clue.
JOAN: Well, think about it. I need the answer.
ALICE *thinking and then deciding to google it*: Ah, here it is. It says from 1 to 2 feet.
JANE *quite irritated*: THAT can’t be right!
ALICE: Oh, why not?
JANE: That is way TOO much, don’t you think?
ALICE: Umm. No clue.

Then my friend Debbie calls:

DEBBIE: Hey, remember I was going to visit you today?
ALICE: Yes.
DEBBIE: Well, I don’t have the car because Aaron took it.
ALICE: Oh.
DEBBIE: So, I thought I’d take a taxi. Whadda think?
ALICE *thinking that this one is easy*: Sure. That’s great.
DEBBIE: But, I can’t take the taxi, you know?
ALICE *thinking, what did I miss? *: No. I don’t know. Why?
DEBBIE: Because I don’t have any cash on me.
ALICE: Oh, well, that’s alright. I’ll pay for the cab. Just come over.
DEBBIE: That’s great. But…no can do. You know why?
ALICE: Umm, no clue.
DEBBIE: Because I need to be here. Know what I’m saying?
ALICE: Ah. Sure.

I know understand what Tom Stoppard meant when he said, My whole life is waiting for the questions to which I have prepared answers.

Foibles

Had to take another break from job hunting. Nothing but job hunting. So I was quite pleased when a friend called me to chat. Yay! A break from writing cover letters, and sending resumes, and never hearing from anyone. I get to have a conversation with someone other than myself.

So...my friend. She is telling me that several days ago, she had gone to a gathering. Since I am living vicariously through her, I am all agog that she got dressed up and went out and had drinks and stayed out late. Just like a big girl!

Friend: I am NOT HAPPY!

Alice: What happened?

Friend: A man fell on me at the party and I sprained my neck.

Alice: A man? Fell? On you? And, you SPRAINED your neck?

Friend: Yes, he was smashed. We were at a wine tasting party and, get this, he brought a 12-pack of beer. He drank them all. So, 180 pounds of drunk fell on me.

Alice: Did you know him?

Friend: No. I only know that he's a dick.

Alice: Did he offer to pay for your medical bill?

Friend: No. He's a dick.

Alice: Did he apologize?

Friend: No. He's a ...

Alice: Yeah. I get it. A dick. Are you alright, now?

Friend: Don't know. All I can tell you is that my doctor was standing behind me, crinkling my neck back into alignment and he was marveling over how bent out of shape I was. He was almost...laughing when I told him the story. I hate him. He's a dick, too.

Then she changed the subject. Told me about this guy that she had thought she was madly in love with and had been thinking about sharing a place with him.

Friend: Oh, he broke his ankle.

Alice: What! He's injured, too? Did it happen at the party?

Friend: No. He broke it while wearing clogs and doing Tai Chi.

Alice: Clogs and Tai Chi. Umm. Why?

Friend: Why was he doing Tai Chi?

Alice: No. Why was he wearing clogs? I mean, honestly...

Friend: Well, it was a choice between buying an earring or clogs.

Alice: He should have chosen the earring.

Friend: Oh, well, he did get one, too.

Alice: And you love him madly because...

My friend told me that she doesn't think she could live with him because he is too compulsive about many things. I privately thought that compulsive is not a word that springs quickly to mind. Schmuck does.

Friend: When we were discussing moving in --he nursing his ankle, I nursing my neck -- he handed me some sheets of paper.

Alice *laughing*: Pre-nup?

Friend: No. It was a household budget. He told me to please follow it carefully. Don't make any changes, he ordered. If you need to change a category, let me do it, he said.

Alice: How utterly, undeniably...romantic that is. I can see the attraction for you.

Friend *tsking*: Don't worry. I said thanks and when he hobbled out of the room, I dropped it into the trash. I don't think it will work out because...

Alice: You're not into clog-wearing, earring-wearing, obsessive compulsive tai chi-ers who are...dicks?

Friend: Something like that.

Ya Learn Something New

I was talked into taking a writing class called Starting the Novel. I never thought that I would ever sign up for such a course but…what the hell. I should start a novel and…again, what the hell.

My classmates lacked spark, but maybe it was because they were tired having come from work. It seems that I am the only one that does not have to leave for a job in the a.m. -- yet -- and that sucked when we had to go around introducing ourselves and tell a bit about what we do. Do? I do…lots of things but do I get paid for it? Anyway, when it was my turn I said rather too brightly that I am, um, um, busy looking for a job. Yes, that's right, that's what I am doing. And also that I am trying to write...something. There was interest. “What’s it about?” asked Michael. Ummm. Well, I muttered that it was still in planning stage but that it involved a woman who kept a weblog. Jeez. Total fiction, that story.

Then the instructor asked us what we do to get ourselves in writing mode, how do we write those first words. When it was my turn, I tried to be very honest and say that usually I need a title. Then I said that once I have a title, I can start that first paragraph. The instructor said something along the lines of that’s a good way to go. Well, a Richard then spoke up.

Richard *huffy*: Well, that might work with short stories but having a title for a novel right away? That’s not a good idea. I mean a novel is long. A short story is…short.

Alice: What are you saying…um…Dick?

Dick: I mean, it’s hard to think up titles. Hell, I think that it’s hard to think of first lines. You should just call it Draft One and at the end of the novel, then think of a title.

Alice: Are you working on something right now?

Dick *surprised*: Yes.

Alice: And you found it easy to begin writing?

Dick: Yes. After all, I learned in college from my writing instructor that all you needed to do to get into writing was to follow the bing, bang, bingo formula.

Alice: What?

Class: What?

Instructor: What?

Dick: Well, you think of something and then add detail to it. That’s bing. Then you think of something else to go into the middle and then add detail to it. That’s bang. And you think of the ending and…

Alice: I know. Add detail to it.

Dick: Yeah. And that’s bingo!

So now I’m thinking that I have eight weeks of class and I am fervently praying that we will not be binging, banging, and bingoing the whole time.

There are no Words...

My friend Tiggy has telephoned me early this morning. Too early. Everyone in this little household went to sleep very late last night -- or very early this morning, if one wanted to be accurate. She wants to meet and walk around the park many, many, many times because she claims that she has spent the holiday weekend eating everything in sight and needed to exercise. We had been celebrating David's birthday all weekend and while eating and drinking were great things to do, walking didn't make my list, but Tiggy hinted that she had something fun and interesting and necessary to talk about. So I went.

Tiggy is wearing her customary pair of black yoga pants, and a much beloved green tee shirt that has written in front: What kind of socks do pirates wear? And on the back: Arrrgyle! She also has on her grandmother's strand of pearls and a pair of long beaded earrings. Quite the look. As long as I have known her, she always wears the pearls and while her earrings are varied, they are always long enough to almost brush the top of her shoulders. I once joked to someone that I bet she wore this jewelry to sleep and, sure enough, she came over one night to borrow my camera and was wearing pajamas (she lived next door) and the pearls and gold filagree danglers.

So here we are, me with three hours of sleep and Tiggy chirping about this and that when, at mile two of our walk, she starts to talk about values, morals, and standing up for what one believes. God help us.

Tiggy: You know, I sometimes see a program on television that concerns itself with values and such…by the way, you should see it too.

Alice: Alright. Which one?

Tiggy: Well, I don’t remember the name.

Alice: Oh. Well, what channel is it on?

Tiggy: I don’t remember, though I think it’s channel 35. But I’m not sure.

Alice: Oookay. When does it come on?

Tiggy: Actually, I don’t remember. Maybe Sundays?

Alice *quite irritated*: How in hell do you see this program if you don’t know the name, don’t remember the channel, and—more importantly—can’t remember what day it’s on? HOW DO YOU SEE THIS BLOODY PROGRAM THEN, HUH?

Tiggy: Well, it’s usually by accident. I turn on the t.v. and then, all of a sudden, it’s on and I always say to myself: Hey, I love this program, gotta watch it more often.

Alice: How many times have you seen it?

Tiggy: Oh, just twice. I think. I’m not sure. Maybe. But anyway. It’s a great program.

I know when to surrender. I look over at Tiggy and vow, absolutely vow that I will make it my mission to watch the show.

Tiggy: Great! Remember to tell me when it's on exactly. Okay?

On the Road...With Sarge

So I was standing around in Washington, D.C. waiting for the Vamoose bus to arrive to return me to New York City. We were supposed to begin boarding at 8:30 a.m. for a 9 a.m. departure. At 8:53, one of the potential passengers called the company on her cell and the person who answered was...unconcerned. He told her that the bus was NOT late since it wasn't 9 a.m. yet. When she told him that the instructions on the reservation asked that passengers arrive 15 minutes early in order to be guaranteed a seat, he answered, "Do you always follow the rules to the letter?"

The 17 of us gathered together, and quite bonded by now, looked at each other sheepishly and realized that we probably do succumb too much to authority. I spoke up and said that we should really learn to be rebels about some things. As a group we decided that since the Vamoose organization seems to be so lackadaisical about timetables, we would make sure to have an authority-free good time on the bus because our driver probably would turn out to be a cool laissez-faire sort of guy, given his apparently cavalier relationship with the clock.

At 9:05 the bus arrives. Then we meet McNeil. Once we were all seated, he spoke into a microphone and spelled out the, er, rules that we were all to follow. To the letter. He had a deep, booming voice that did not really need that microphone.

McNeil: My name is McNeil. I am estimating we will arrive in New York at 1400 hours. Sooner, maybe. Depends on what the police are doing today on the road. We have three movies to choose from. Ocean's Eleven, Shark Tales, and Maid in Manhattan. If you don't want to see a movie, just say so. My feelings won't get hurt.

Us: *appalled at selection*: Well, no thank you. We don't want to see a movie.

McNeil *scowling with...hurt feelings*: Fine! You will see Ocean's Eleven. Anyone not in agreement?

Us *thinking this would be a good time to rebel* Uh. Yes. Yes. Ocean's Eleven is fine. Thank you.

McNeil *still scowling*: You may use your cell phones. ONLY FOR A MINUTE OR TWO! If you stay on longer than that and I have to hear your conversation, I will ask you to turn it off. If you do not get off, I will call the police. I have the right to do this. And I will do this, I promise you that!

Us *not getting the hang of the rebel thing yet*: O.K. No cell phones. Thank you.

McNeil: We will stop at a rest stop for EXACTLY 20 minutes. You get 20 minutes because that's what I get. If you are not on the bus, I WILL LEAVE WITHOUT YOU! Understood?

We nod. Hey at least we get two more minutes than we got during the drive down to D.C. And we didn’t have to hear a repeat of the Bob’s Big Boy story. That’s something.

So off we vamoose, headed for boot camp NYC. When we stopped, McNeil announced that it was "11:07 and I am leaving at 11:30. With or without you."

Well, that actually made it 23 minutes that we were stopping for, but I wasn't going to say anything to McNeil. I didn't want to have to drop and give him 50!

Back on the bus, we are in the middle of watching the movie when my cell phone rings.

Holy shit! I answer it quickly. My bus mates look over apprehensively at McNeil. He has not heard. Whew. I end the call very quickly and think to myself that when I finally, finally, get this rebel thing going, I am going to be such a force that people will live in fear of me. I mean, right?

We did arrive at 1400 hours. Apparently, even the police know to turn a blind eye to a speeding Vamoose bus with Sarge McNeil at the wheel.

On the Road

Traveled to Washington, D.C. for the weekend. Took the Vamoose bus and it was packed. The last few times I’ve done this, I have always had chatty males as seatmates. Very chatty. Five hours of chatness. But I was heartened to see a female sit next to me, ipod headphones firmly in place.

“So,” I thought, “she’ll listen to music and I can watch the boring movie and no problems.”

After the requisite megaphone-quality greeting by the bus driver telling us what conduct he expects on his bus, how we shouldn’t throw crap on the floor, and how –in effect– he is the boss of us, we are on the road.

About an hour later, non-chatty seatmate receives a phone call and after hello she says that she had had a nightmare last night and that she had awakened with “red swollen eyes and sobbing hysterically.” However, she continued, she “couldn’t remember the rest of the dream.

End of phone conversation. Phone rings again; she says hello and then she is relating the nightmare story again. In exactly the same manner, with the same wording as before. This happens FIVE more times in one hour.

I am now quietly going mad with the boredom of hearing this story. In fact, if she needed a bathroom break, I could easily have taken over for her.

Fantasy Sequence

Phone rings. Alice answers.

Unknown Person: Hey!

Alice: Hey, yourself! Guess what?

UP: Who the hell are you?

Alice: Doesn’t matter. I can tell you all you need to know. She woke up this morning after a terrible nightmare.

UP: So?

Alice: It was awful. She woke up with red swollen eyes. Sobbing. Hysterically.

UP: Who the f**k is this?

Alice: Anyway, the poor thing can’t remember what happened next but…

UP: Did you steal this phone?

Alice: Well, she’s back now so here she is. Let her tell you the story with more detail. Oh, right. There ISN’T more detail!

End of Fantasy Sequence

When we arrived in Delaware the driver announced that he was stopping for fifteen minutes for us to go to the rest stop and do whatever we needed to do.

“PEOPLE,” he bellowed. “ONLY FIFTEEN MINUTES. ALRIGHT?”

He told us that on his earlier morning run, he had stopped to let the riders out for fifteen minutes and apparently a young man had decided to have a sit-down breakfast at Bob’s Big Boy. He was left behind.

So all of us ran out of the bus, and we were parked so far away that it would take five minutes to even reach the buildings. We all had the same idea because after a trip to the bathroom, not one person went to buy anything. No coffee, no snacks, no stopping at Bob’s Big Boy.

Though I was curious to know whether the guy was still seated at his table. Eyes red and swollen. Crying hysterically.

Calling Gordon Ramsey

Was packing yesterday, something that I didn’t want to be doing but I had to move, so there I was throwing things in boxes and vowing that I would look through them later and decide what to keep. I should have just thrown the stuff out right then and there but one never knows when the stuff will be needed. Of course, it’s been close to ten years since I’ve looked at some of those things, but still…

My cell phone was ringing! Yay! A phone call. Not too many people know my cell number, so I was sure that I would be happy talking to whatever friend was calling. A break from packing!

I ran to answer it, jumping over several boxes, hitting my shin on the metal edge of my bed, cursing and hopping around until I managed to croak out a hello; I heard a male voice.

Male Voice: Hey! It’s Nathaniel! What’s going on?

Alice: Nathaniel! Just packing.

Nathaniel *confused*: Packing?

Alice: Yep.

Nathaniel: Umm. Whatcha been doing today? Aside from…packing, did you say? Why the hell you packing?

Alice: Well, a lot of things. For example, I was in the grocery store with Larry this morning and he ran up to me in the dairy aisle and he was carrying two bags of potatoes, both 5 pounds of weight. And he excitedly told me that if you buy one 5-pound bag, you get the other one FREE! He was so excited. I wasn’t. I told him that I did not really eat potatoes and that 10 POUNDS of something that I really didn’t eat, was not saving anything at all.

Flashback

Larry: Oh. Well. I'm sure that you could think of a recipe that could use…

Alice *interrupting very quickly*: 10 POUNDS? No. After all, I am not trying to feed Ireland during the famine. They will SPOIL. They will develop those eyes and those gnarly thin, white, stringy, wormy tentacles that look as if they belong in an Edward Gorey drawing, and…

Larry: Nonsense! It’s a good sale.

Alice: NO! I don’t want POTATOES! Or, Spam for that matter.

End of Flashback

Alice: So, Nathaniel, we didn’t get the potatoes though Larry was pissed about it all day. What do you mean why am I packing? It’s obvious, isn’t it?

Nathaniel: Er. Umm. Sorry. You see, the thing is that I think that I got the wrong number.

Alice: Yeah. You did.

Nathaniel: Oh. You’re not Penny, then?

Alice: Nope.

Nathaniel: Oh. Well. Sorry.

Alice: I bet you are!

Nathaniel: Well, I want to hang up now.

Alice: I bet you do!

Sadly, I had to return to packing. And Larry came back with the potatoes because it was too good a deal to pass up.

Okaaay. Well, if I remember the recipe correctly, one can boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew.

That's just what I'll do with 'em.

"Every absurdity has a champion...."

The doorbell rang yesterday in a blaringly, insistently, not giving up until this portal is opened NOW kind of way.

So when I finally unlocked and opened, I saw standing there a...ladder.

Now one would think that I would be absolutely taken aback by this but no, no I wasn’t. Earlier that day, I had to kill time while a house inspection was taking place where I live so I went to several stores. The first, a run of the mill food market. So, of course, true to form, I was walking about all the aisles, letting Larry do the serious shopping while I entertained myself looking at things such as fresh ostrich meat, ugli fruit (and yes, it WAS rather unattractive!), and anything else that amused me.

Then...peripheral vision alerted me to a tall man walking toward me. He had white hair styled ala Elvis, was wearing tight jeans, white (!) boots, and a silver blue wife beater. His eyes were cerulean and the most amazing thing about them was that they did not sit centered in his face. The left one looked off to the left, and the right looked to the right. My first thought was how could he walk a straight path? My second? Of course, his eyes may not work together, but one of them is going to see me and he WILL talk to me.

He did.

He reached me and turned his head so that his right eye was facing me and smiled, a beautiful smile, and then greeted me -- joyfully is the only adverb that fits the reality. I returned his greeting -- hesitantly. After all, I did not know him though he was acting as if I were a long-lost friend who had been finally located by a private detective he had hired, and because I had been truly found, now thought that the money had been bloody worth it.

We talked for a few minutes. The how-are-yous, the isn't-the-day-great-so-far (well, actually, Elvis, no, the day has sucked for me but I'll play your little happy game). You know, all the words that strangers utter that pass for civil murmurs of conversation. Then I told him that I had to push on. We said our goodbyes and he moved forward, each eye scanning either side of the aisle.

The second place I went to was a food specialty shop. After entertaining myself for about half an hour, it was time to go to the checkout. Larry and I were waiting in a not longish line when, again, peripheral vision showed me a cashier standing about 4 registers over. She was pointing my way and speaking loudly.

Cashier: Excuse me, Miss, I need your help!

Alice *startled*: Me? Are you talking to me?

My Brain: Well, genius, she is looking at YOU, she is pointing at YOU, she is talking to YOU so I can understand why YOU are confused. Not enough information, is it?

Cashier *impatiently*: Yes, YOU! I need YOUR help. Come HERE!

Alice *chastised, and eloquent*: Um. O.K.

Before I walk toward her, I look at Larry and ask him how I could possibly help a cashier?

Larry *looking up from a pamphlet he was reading*: I don't know. But, think of it this way. Someone is offering you a job. Finally. Count your blessings.

All righty, then.

When I reached Cashier, she looks at me, and smiles. A beautiful smile.

Cashier: Sweetie, you must bring your purchases over.

Alice *confused*: Oh. But we're in line over there. *waves in an over there way*

Cashier: Yes. But I am open and NO ONE is in my line and I need you to help me by bringing your cart over so I can be earning my pay.

Alice *mouth open, nodding slowly*: Yes. I'll go get it, shall I?

Cashier *looking pleased that I got with the program*: I'll love you for it, sweetie.

So, of course, later, when I opened the door to an insistent ladder, I didn't think how odd that a ladder is visiting me; I just opened the door wider and waited for it to come in.

Eventually, it did.