Tuesday, 23 November 2004 | Trashy dresser

"Oh! Look at those," I said to Richard, pointing at some bright pink slippers in a full Brooklyn trash can. They were wildly furry and had two large beady eyes on each foot, positioned like headlights. The ends of the fur strands were dirty with brown.

I took a picture of them and turned to Richard. "I think I want them."

"No you don't," he said. Then added, "You'll thank me later, when you still have feet."

I silently agreed that it was probably wise not to procure the dirt/disease slippers, but I wondered whether it was likely that I would think to thank him for the absence of a bad outcome. Since there is no event, no climax, at what point would it be appropriate to express gratitude?

I decided tonight was as good a time as any, so I called him. "Thank you for preventing me from getting foot disease, Richard." In friendly Richard fashion, he said, "You're welcome," even before he realized what I was talking about.

Perhaps I'll do that on a regular basis.