Sunday, Jan. 03, 2021 10:49 pm
Date Night
When he suggested I come over for a cocktail on New Year's Eve, I was tempted. Alcohol? That I don't have to pay for? You bet. But then he mentioned midnight and spending the night... "Whoa, cowboy," I said, in my head. Toby Keith said "I'm not talking about forever, I'm just talking about tonight." Hell, I wasn't talking about midnight, a cocktail at sundown was what I was willing to participate in. And, if things got interesting, I hoped to stick that bottle under my coat and make a dash for home for my usual New Year's Eve celebration that might include Dateline and then a book and bedtime to the lullaby of fireworks all around.
Beautiful house, coming in and seeing the tree
Being the considerate date I am, I offered to bring "something special" for Don. ...
Nothing says it's a special night like plopping two pizzas onto the counter, piling three slices on my 8 inch paper plate and munching down.
I coyly sat on the far end of one sofa while Don sat at the far end of another sofa. And Lauren had her eyes on the screen and her fingers on the keyboard of her phone in the side chair. What? Who is Lauren. Lauren is his 40-year-old autistic daughter that works at Wal-Mart and lives with him.
Don led the romantic conversational dance by leading with an intimate tale of toes ... his toes and the gangreneous sores he'd been dealing with for months. As he regaled me with stories of surgeries and bandage changes, I hummed in my head so I could continue to enjoy the reason I was here -- the specialness of a New Year's Eve with a dear friend -- no, that wasn't it, oh yes, the beer in my hand. I was there for the beer.
As I tuned Don in for a moment and heard "pus" I tuned him out again and let my eyes wander around this home that, if I played my cards right, could be mine. Again, I took in the Christmas tree..... a bit of the beauty of the tree was __ because I knew it was there year round....
Don's khakis stretched tight across his manhood as he propped his foot up on the coach to elevate it. He was putting the sock back on ... had he shown me his infected toe? Perhaps an alcohol and Xanax blackout had finally done me some good.
His plaid clad arms were stretched wide, one on the back of the couch, beckoning me to join him on his couch. I casually got up, walked around to his couch, and back to the kitchen for more pizza and beer and returned to my end of my couch, perhaps tucked closer to the arm, if that was possible.
We talked of subjects on a higher level--- books and music. Me asking if he was familiar with authors and performers and him repeating "no" to each one.... Harper Lee? Taylor Swift? John le Carre? Don Ho? We weren't connecting on any sparkplug and any electricity around me was zapping me in the head and saying it was time to make my exit.
MORE TO COME