I remember it being a chilly winter when, a few years ago, Katie and I randomly crossed paths at a city playground. Katie was dressed in a rich, camel-colored inspector gadget style coat that looked oh so adorbs on her. Shiny whisps of her healthy, shiny hair peeked out from under a soft white beret and a matching scarf that looked like it was made of marshmellows snaked delicately around her neck. Her mauve ankle length pants were capped by fuzzy socks and brown hiking style boots that probably cost more than everything on my entire person. Her two children looked like they were straight out of a Land’s End catalog, frolicking on a slide nearby, impeccably dressed, as she sat on a bench sipping a coffee with surely no less than seven descriptors attached.
I sat down beside her on the bench with my own beverage in hand; a decaf chai in a dented insulated cup that I’d scored for $4 on the discount rack at Target. Our eyes met for a moment, and she quickly looked away, but it was too late—I didn’t schlep my frenzied offspring to the breezy playground to sit quietly on a cold bench by myself. “It’s a cold one today!” I offered in my typical chipper style, sipping my tea to show I meant it.
She made a sound that was kind of a cross between a grunt and a musical note, and seemed shocked and embarrassed that she was capable of making such a noise. I held my hand out firmly, introducing myself. “You can call me Juju,” I said, using my self-assigned playground moniker that I hide behind until I’m sure a mom is “cool.”
“Kathryn Britt,” she spat sharply. She almost seemed mad for some reason. Was she an actor I didn’t recognize? Her eyes darted across the sky, as if she were looking for someone to save her—God, perhaps?
“I’ve never seen you at this playground before,” I shared. Begrudgingly, and without looking in my direction, she said, “We’re just visiting.” I took her cool response as an opportunity to dig deeper. “Oh, where from?” She immediately regretted giving me even an inch of rope to work with. Exhaling sharply, she said, “We’re traveling on business.” I nodded, catching her drift. “Oh, k. Cool.” But I was determined. I would crack this nut. So, I decided to come in with the hard sell, which I usually reserve for later in a conversation. “I live here,” I said, the information wholly uninvited. “I’ve been here for about 15 years or so now, working as a” — I paused for dramatic effect — “comedian.”
Was there a twinkle of interest in her eyes? Usually, when I tell people I’m a comedian, they become disarmed, intrigued, and curious. It almost seemed like I was getting a glimpse of that from her, but she held her cards so close to her chest, I just couldn’t tell. So I went on.
“You may have heard one of my comedy songs on Spotify,” I said, sniffing cooly. “My Pussy Is Magic, it’s called.” She stopped cold as she sipped her coffee, and coughed, choking a little bit. I assumed she recognized it, so I went on to sing a line or two:
“If you wanna see, the magic within; rub it with your wand and let the magic begin. Say the magic words that I want to hear; not abra cadabra, cause that shit is not real.”
I smiled, nodding my head in time to music that wasn’t there.
“Grab me by my entrance like a bowling ball, and roll me to the bedroom at the end of the hall; turn off the lights now and take off your pants, cause you’re about to learn what happens when this pussy enchants!”
I put my hands out in kind of a ta da! move, and smiled, wide eyed, waiting for her applause and recognition.
I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.
Her face went absolutely purple. She stood up, abruptly, and took a deep breath, poising herself. I was rapt, on the edge of the bench. I couldn’t wait to hear what she had to say. She stood there quietly for a moment, her facial expressions morphing like the terminator until she was able to compose herself and find the correct expression for the moment.
“You’ll have to excuse me,” she said. “My children need me. It was lovely talking to you.”
Then she stomped off towards Clover and Wyndfall, and they hopped into a dark SUV that was waiting nearby.
I was sad I didn’t get a chance to get her phone number. I would have loved to have called her up sometime and sang the rest of it to her.
Daily Musings:
SNL’s take on Katie Britt’s response | The New York Times
Michelle Buteau and Ilana Glazer’s Babes takes SXSW | The Daily Beast
Recap: Variety’s Power of Comedy awards | Variety
Your ad to 9k comedy lovers here; $10/day, $40/wk | jess delfino at gmail dot com
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