A Bar Mitzvah...

It was a two-improv gig Saturday. The first was a money making Bar Mitzvah appearance which we survived thanks to some PGTV schtick. The second was in a Chinatown night club.

Our short-staffed troupe was rounded out by a young philly female comedy spitfire from another troupe. At lunch, the spitfire showed us an amusing assortment of discarded fencing trophies that she'd found while crawling through the underground utility tunnels of her Main Line alma mater. I asked her if she was interested in working in a library.

We still had hours to kill before our nighttime bar gig in the big city. Thank god none of the boys wanted to fork over the admission to the comic book convention. I was itching to practice throwing the frisb, and the trophy collector needed a new outfit, so we headed to the worst mall in the world to buy the necessaries.

Something about dress shopping with a young woman who is the right age to be my biological child --if I had been very promiscuous in junior high-- brought out the maternal in me. Questions like "And what kind of bra would you wear with that?" fell from my lips.