Supergirl

Though I must admit that much of my weekend was spent in a dark, dark place, one that I am thankfully out of, and included such delights as scrunching up into a ball in bed to nap after lunch and scrunching up in a ball on the sofa and watching a hideous Nick Lachey post-Newlyweds reality program, I did actually get out of the house on Saturday afternoon.

I joined my friend NA and her 15 month old daughter for a trip to the Museum of Fine Arts. NA had free tickets to the Hockney exhibit. I hadn't heard of Hockney before learning of the show but I must say I was quite impressed, not so much by this, one of his signature pieces, which (I think) normally hangs at the Tate, but by the fact that he included in his show (and as he is still alive I am sure he had some say about what to include) a painting of his wiener dog, Stanley.

I, too, fully intend to include all pets with me in my future works, in one form or another. And I still really want a wiener dog of my own. And when I get one I shall name him Francis. Or maybe Dixie.

Anyhoo, NA had to take her bebe out of the show after she went running full-on into one of the paintings. I kept the stroller, though, and some lady with a broken leg banged into it and gave me a cranky look. Well, eff you is what I thought but sorry is what I said. I returned the stroller to NA and went chasing after her daughter who I must say was looking quite fetching in red cordury pants, sneakers, and a Superman-logo blue t-shirt complete with detachable red satin cape. She zoomed through several galleries including one filled with silver and another with statues. I decided she was getting the lay of the land in case she needed to fly back later and protect the treasures from the bad guys. Unfortunately, this Supergirl was not impervious to danger and the second time she tripped over someone's feet, in a hall filled with album art from the sixties, she needed a pick-me-up from her mom.