Sunday, February 19, 2006

It's In His Kiss

Sometimes I think slowly over the last few years, more so in the last few months, I have forgotten how to live. And then, every now & then, I get a reminder that I still have a pulse. Friday night was fun. More fun than I expected and surprisingly less funny than I expected, although there were the genuine moments of hilarity like when one of the BYTs gaily admitted that she thought Calendar Girls was just a movie and didn’t know that there was a real calendar with "naked, old people" on it. I tried not to laugh and when she asked me if that was crazy, truthfully replied, "Slightly alarming." Everyone apparently found this very funny. Clearly George Bernard Shaw wasn’t kidding when he said the truth was the funniest joke in the world.

We met up outside one of the clubs where BYT Original’s friend was bartending. He was getting off at 2 so we stayed at the club until 2 and then went to this other place that he said was a lot more happening. It was happening all right. All kinds of things were happening. Drugs, sex, rock n’ roll. Well, not rock n’ roll. More like some East meets West fusion of bhangra and rap with a heavy dose of trance electronika thrown in. Just what you need at 2 am in the morning.

Our party consisted of the girl who had invited me, her 2 girl friends plus the boy from the other club - the 26 year old bartender, and me. Other than the Calendar Girl moment and one of the other 27 year olds pinching my cheek and calling me cute in some twilight zone role reversal the night was pretty much as nights like these go. We danced, we drank, we screamed. Then we moaned our aching feet and went home. But not before the boy had gallantly kissed me.

I say gallantly because one does not expect such reckless bravado mixed with such charming flourish - yes, flourish - outside of movies like the Princess Bride. I was so impressed by his moves that I forgot to laugh. Or to be offended for that matter. It’s been a long time since I have been kissed and longer still since I have been kissed with such purpose.

Saturday morning I woke up with a mild headache and a feeling of foreboding. Then I remembered. T would be 47 this year and so, that would mean, if he had successfully sowed any wild oats when he was 21, which he might well have done, bless his little womanizing heart, then he would have a ... he might have a ... a ...

I didn’t finish the thought. I am resolutely not finishing the thought. I have been resolutely not finishing the thought since yesterday morning. The kiss was nice. Friday night was nice. Let's leave it at that.

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