Myth Happens

Tonight in accidental social engineering: "My husband works at the Somerville," I explained to the young man behind the concessions counter of the Capitol Theatre, "but they just have the hard ice cream from Richardson's, so I didn't realize you offered soft serve until I saw your sign from the street," and with an evidently gratified sense of intramural competition he gave me about a vertical foot of chocolate-and-vanilla twist when all I had ordered was a small. (It was for my mother, which made it even better. She had run me out to return my unrenewable interlibrary loan because my knee is still not suitable for driving. I aten't dead, but I am very, very tired.)