Saturday we meet a friend for lunch and a trip to the Renwick to see the glass exhibit. It is a large collection by Lino Tagliapietra. It's not Chihuly (Sorry, Lino, I'll be you hate getting compared) but the show is fairly brilliant and my glass-loving soul swells.
As the Renwick is across the street from the White House and it is gorgeous weather, we stroll around.
We smile at the protesters calling for Bush's arrest.
We don't smile at the sharpshooters on the roof.
We wander up a few blocks and peek in on some of the fancy hotels. We are clearly lookyloos as is evidenced by the reaction of the doorman at the Hay Adams. He hesitantly opens the door for us while asking: Do you have a question?
Um, do we have a question?
Yeah, we have a question: Are you profiling us?
He does let us in and we look around. It's pleasant. But we decide we like the lobby of the St. Regis better.
We ride the Metro back and at one stop a dozen people board our car.
Me, pointing at an envelope that is now on the floor a few feet in front of us: Look. That wasn't there a minute ago was it?
We contemplate it for a bit. No one is anywhere near it.
Me: You want it?
Hubby: No. ...You can get it.
Me: Suppose it's full of cash...
Hubby: Suppose it's full of anthrax...
With that I look up to see a man sitting across from me who is holding a bunched up t-shirt over his mouth like a mask, as if he doesn't want to breathe in whatever is in that envelope.
Hubby, sensing me react: What?
Me: That guy...
Hubby: That would be more of a sarin gas thing than an anthrax thing.
After 30 seconds the man stops covering his mouth and then he looks like everyone else.
We leave the envelope where it is.