Is It Ready?

While eating lunch at one of my favorite pizza-sliceries a woman, plump as Violet Beauregarde after eating the “by gum it’s gum” meal, rolled in. She ordered up her slice and then paced back and forth down the narrow room. She leaned up against the counter and in a jovial tone asked, “Is it done yet?” “No,” was the reply. She smiled and pace back and forth again only to lean up against the counter and ask, “Is it done yet?” “No,” was the reply. She didn’t seem to get discouraged. Up and down the room she went five times. Pausing at the counter she said, “Is it done yet?” “No,” was the reply. “Can you cut it up into small pieces” she beamed. “OK.” Again she returned to pacing, this time humming softly to herself. It was an obviously made up little ditty having to do with cheese and sauce. She skipped, or rather, moved oddly back up to the counter and sang, “I’m here to pick up a slice for me, Juanita! Is it ready?” “No,” was the reply. She turned around smiling and did a little dance. One-two-three-shake-that-bootie-one-two-three-shake-that-bootie-one-two-three. She stopped at the open door and threw an arm up to one side and then the other. While bending her knees she wiggled her butt. The performance was amazing—something one would have seen a tight rope walker do on “Circus of the Stars.” She obviously had been practicing. She did a back flip. Ok she really didn’t do a back flip but if her desire was great enough—I’m sure she could have pulled it off. Back to the counter she went. “I ordered a slice for me, Juanita! Cut up real small. Is it ready?” “Yessss” the counterman hissed. “Yay!” She was overjoyed and started clapping. I started clapping too. She got her slice and danced out the door. I kept clapping.